Just Another Cinderella Story
by PiraBats3
Summary: Yes, another Bruce/OC story.
1. Preface

_**Author's Note:**_

_Disclaimer: Batman/Bruce Wayne and everything related to him are not my ideas. They come from the incredible imagination of the writers and artists at DC Comics—and Bob Kane.  
However, Anastasia Williams and everything related to her are my ideas from my own imagination.  
I also have never been to Hawaii. So, please don't hate me too much if things aren't accurate.  
I'm also changing up some things about some places in Hawaii to add to the storyline.  
This story is entirely AU, but it goes along the lines of Nolan's _Batman Begins_ and _The Dark Knight_.  
This story is rated T for language and some possible suggestive themes. I might up the rating if things get too drastic and violent.  
If you want an idea of what the characters look like, take a peek at my profile.  
__**Yes, this is another Bruce Wayne/OC story, hence the sarcastic nature of the title. I know it's entirely AU, out-of-character, and non-canon.  
This is for my own guilty pleasure, and for anyone else's, too. ******__If you don't like these kinds of stories, _do not read this_.  
However, I will do my best to avoid the common OC and BW/OC topics and keep the characters as _in _**character as possible.**  
_Thanks for reading; reviews are adored.

* * *

**Preface**

**Sunday, May 25, 1997; 7:22pm – Williams' Residence; Scottsdale, Arizona**

"I have a proposition for you two," Ana Williams asked in the sweetest, most responsible-sounding voice she could muster up.

Her parents, who were both seated across their cheap, glass dinner table from where she was standing, exchanged unsure glances. Of course they didn't know what she was up to, they were too busy to spy on her anymore. Just like every other teenager with over protective parents, Ana's parents had to know what she was up to at all times. The only downside for them was that she really wasn't one to go looking for trouble. With the amount of freedom they did give Ana, which was about average in comparison to the rest of the 16-year-old population in North Scottsdale, they quickly found out that there wasn't much _to _spy on. She was a pretty boring kid. At least, until now.

"I did a bit of research in colleges," the looks in their matching blue eyes, the same blue eyes Ana inherited, changed to a hopeful look. "And I've found one, and only one that I want to go to."

Her father, who's almost every feature she inherited, still looked hopeful. Her mother, on the other hand, was beginning to not like where this was headed. "I thought we talked about Community Coll—"

"Mom, let me finish." She shut her mouth tightly, as if forcing to hold back the words she wanted to repeat for the thousandth time. "The University of Hawaii—"

"We can't afford that, Ana!" her mom immediately interrupted as her dad's blue eyes fell from being hopeful to the previous unsure look that was there. "And why would you want to go to Hawaii where it's so expensive and so far from home? There is nothing wrong with going to Community College for two years and transferring to ASU."

Ana held her breath through her brief rant that continued long past the first mention of the notorious party university of Phoenix, as she kept her blue-green eyes on the paper containing all of her positive points in her hands. Lynda had been so set on Ana going to college since the day she was born because neither she nor James did, but her standards beyond that were low. "_And look where we are now_," she would repeat throughout every argument they ever had about the subject of school. Ana knew how far in debt they were from being foolish with little plastic credit cards when they were her age, and instead of following in their footsteps despite their warnings and bans, which is what most teenagers would do in her place, she actually learned from their mistakes. All of them.

Lynda caved in at the first sign of peer pressure all throughout her life. She started drinking when she was 13, smoking when she was 14, and having sex when she was 16. Of course, she didn't dare tell Ana any of this until she was well into high school. Did she really think Ana would be stupid enough to do that? Even if she had friends to peer pressure her into things, her will was stronger than that.

James had moved around a ton while he was growing up, which gave him plenty of experience in nearly any and every matter in any and every situation and environment. And he was almost a complete opposite of Lynda. He's level headed and takes everything in quietly instead of venting and ranting to the world. But like Ana, James had a strong enough will to stick to the right things. He tried his best to be a rebel without a cause, but he hated tattoos, despised drugs, and looked down at society's general lack of manners. Now, however, he was officially going through his mid-life crisis and was trying to revive his teenage life of playing the guitar and living with a band while he job hopped from truck company to truck company to travel the States again as his bad back and chain smoking habit kept him from doing too much.

As soon as Lynda paused to catch her breath, as well as Ana's reaction, Ana started again as she tried to keep her calm, "You don't have to pay for any of it. And you also said that you wanted me to do better in college than I'm doing in high school—"

"Yes, but—"

"Mom, I _want_ to go to Hawaii. I _want_ to get away from Phoenix." Ana noticed a small smile tug at the corners of her dad's mouth. He too shared that desire with her. "And I don't want to go to a mediocre Community College where I'll bore myself to death, or even go to the number one party school in the nation."

"Ana," her mom interrupted more quietly than before, so she allowed her to continue. "What do you mean that we won't have to pay for any of it? You can't afford it on your own."

That proud-of-herself smile she had been hoping she would be able to show revealed itself on her face. "Aside from as many student loans I can get, I've already spoken to grandpa and he loves the idea. He'll help fund me, and I'll pay him back as soon as I can." Well, Ana still had to work out the kinks in that because at the moment he was refusing to accept a repayment method.

"We can't let your grandfather pay for _all_ of that. That's just too much—"

"That's where my proposition comes into play." They cast another unsure, and now confused glance, at each other. They didn't realize that that was just the background of her proposition. "I was thinking, since I can definitely be accepted, I could move into an apartment by myself in Hilo for senior year to reduce the tuition cost."

Here was the outburst Ana was waiting for. "That's insane, Ana! You're only 16! There's no way I'm going to let you _move_ to Hawaii by yourself! I don't even think it's legal!" The thought of her declaring her as an independent citizen crossed her mind. She glanced at her dad, who didn't meet her eyes and only sat in his chair with a deep frown on his face. She could tell he was thinking this over as he knew she obviously had. Ana kept the smile away from her face as her mom was still yelling more and more absurd ideas by the second as Ana noticed that his thinking obviously meant that he was for the idea; he was just trying to think of a reason _not_ to be for it.

"Anastasia Williams, you are not going to move to Hawaii."

"Alrighty then," she casually shrugged as soon as Lynda had made her final statement. After all of their arguments, Ana could tell when she was done, just as she knew exactly what to say to swing the argument in her favor. Her casual shrug threw her mom off for a moment as a look of confusion crossed her blue eyes. "I'll just have to tell grandpa that he'll have to re-sell that apartment and plane ticket he bought me."

Before her mom could respond to her new tactic of guilt, which Ana had learned from her using it so often on her, her dad caught her arm with a squeeze. They always seemed on the verge of divorce throughout their twenty year marriage, but every now and then they revealed their underlying love for each other. This wasn't one of those times; it rarely was. "Ana," he began carefully, and she knew what he was going to say before he said it. "I have a few conditions for you."

Lynda shot a glare at him, but he squeezed her arm again to remind her to stay quiet.

"Of course," Ana replied casually, trying to mask the excitement in her voice.

"Firstly, you must get a job, no matter where it is." Done; she was already planning on doing that anyway. "Secondly, nothing less than A's and B's." Agreed; she was already doing fine in high school, college would be more interesting and therefore not a problem. "Thirdly, you will be careful and keep in touch?" It was more a request than a command, and as his grey-blue eyes clear on his weathered and tan face rested on Ana's now bright blue ones, she suddenly almost felt bad that she was leaving him behind. She nodded carefully, and he clearly saw the promise in her eyes as a rare, genuine smile spread on his face.

Now her mom decided to speak up, but even though her voice was still loud and angry, she sounded defeated. "Are you sure about this? Don't you want to stay here for your senior year?" That was the very _last_ thing Ana wanted to do.

"If it's alright with both of you, because you both are my parents, can I go to Hawaii?"

Her dad's smile grew, "When's your flight?"

* * *

**Monday, August 25, 1997; 10:04am – Yale University; New Haven, Connecticut**

"I must say your transcript is impressive, Mr. Wayne. But I must ask why you haven't graduated with a Bachelors, let alone a Masters degree yet." Dean Joseph Gordon was older than Alfred, but far more plain. His office was mostly bare. A couple of unpacked boxes sat under the lone window in the office. The bookcase behind him was full of disheveled books, and a couple of picture frames displaying diplomas and fraternity membership were tilted back against the disorganized shelves, waiting to be hung.

Bruce Wayne shrugged slightly, still trying to get used to the suit he was wearing. He hated wearing suits, but upon meeting the Dean of Undergraduate Studies, it was recommended to look your best. So here he sat, dark brunette hair slicked back and a fresh Versace suit making him look more like the Wayne he was supposed to be. "I'm still trying a little of everything, seeing where my interests lie."

"Well, unlike your ancestors it seems, neither business or medicine has caught your attention. But your academics… With all these units, you could graduate with honors."

Bruce winced ever so slightly. He, quite honestly, could care less. He'd always excelled at school—or ever since he began attending school at the age of nine. But he didn't like to flaunt the fact. He'd graduated from Excelsior Private Academy early and enrolled in Gotham University at the age of sixteen. He wasn't quite expelled from Gotham U, because the university wouldn't dare expel the Prince of Gotham, but he was instead politely asked to leave only two years after enrolling.

College itself wasn't something he had been dying to do, either. Right now it was something to do, and it pleased Alfred—when he didn't get expelled or suspended due to behavior issues.

"But, yet, your transcript has all these behavior flags." The Dean paused, finally glancing up from Bruce's transcript in front of him. "We'd be glad to accept you here, Mr. Wayne. I just ask that you check in with me every so often. Maybe we can get you a degree to go with all these A's."

The younger man shed a forced smile before standing. "Thank you, Mr. Gordon," he said, holding his hand across the desk to shake hands with the Dean.

As Bruce turned to leave, the elder man watched the young billionaire leave, a wary expression clear on his aging features. How would Bruce Wayne do here at Yale?


	2. I:I

**Part I**

**Monday, February 7, 2000; 7:29am - Fire Station #2; Hilo, Hawaii**

"Ana, it's time for your class."

The shape in the small cot groaned at the person who dared to intrude on her nice and pleasant dream. She muttered something incoherent before turning away from the voice.

"Ana…you're going to be late, and I know how much you hate that."

Her bright blue eyes suddenly darted open, causing the owner of the voice to grin. Travis leaned back, his face moving a more comfortable distance away from Ana's than the two inches it had been before while he tried to lull her from her slumber. His green-hazel eyes smiled more than the rest of his expression did as they peeked out from under untrimmed, light brown bangs, highlighted from the Hawaiian sun.

"I knew that would get you up. Come on, you weren't supposed to spend the night here."

Ana stood quickly, towering over Travis until he stood alongside her, making him the shorter of the pair by an inch, though he'd never admit it. "What time is it?" she asked more coherently than the last words from her mouth as epinephrine defined her senses.

Travis smiled more fully as he handed her a duffle bag full of spare clothes that she always kept at the fire station. "7:30. You've got thirty minutes."

Shock settled in as her eyes focused on him. She had thirty minutes to return home, shower, change, and get to the University? "Travis! Why didn't you wake me up earlier!" she gasped before darting past him, the duffle bag slung wildly over her shoulder.

"I figured it was plenty of time!" he called after her with a laugh before she burst through the door into the garage, which startled a couple of the older fire fighters.

Five seconds later, she was in her truck, speeding down the wet and rainy road to leave the fire house, her second home, behind her.

Fifteen minutes later, Ana pulled into the parking lot in front of the Life Sciences complex. Digging through the duffle bag, she pulled out a new shirt to replace the one she had slept in. The pants, however, would have to remain untouched; it wasn't an unusual thing and she wasn't one who cared about her appearance anyway. She took one last glance in the review mirror, making sure she didn't have any stray hairs sticking out of her bun (which she simply just pushed under the tighter strands of hair). Her makeup from last night was still mostly in place, but she ran her fingers under her eyes to remove the black mascara that had smeared before smoothing the rest of the skin over. Throwing the duffle bag to the floor to reveal the orange backpack beneath it, she grabbed one of the straps and darted from the large, old, blue and white (with peeling and faded paint) 1974 Ford F-250 Ranger truck to make it to her class with five minutes to spare.

Slumping into one of the aisle seats in the back of the lecture hall, Ana tried to regain control of her senses. With the adrenaline boost, her breath still came heavily and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. But she paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled before withdrawing a notebook and pencil from her backpack.

As a biomedical major, most of her classes consisted of BIO and CHM prefixes. The class she now sat in, however, was an option for completing a liberal arts requirement. Criminology 101. Sounded like an easy A, and even though it had nothing to do with forensics, she had once wanted to be a forensic investigator. So there was some interest in the course already present. The only downside was that it was at eight o'clock in the morning, Monday, Wednesday, Friday.

When the professor, Dr. Costello, did arrive promptly seven minutes after Ana had entered the room, he immediately dove into his lecture without even a friendly "good morning."

"Can anyone tell me what the consensus view of crime is?" he questioned without looking up from the briefcase he was pulling out his notes and some chalk from.

Barely a month in and already the lecture hall was half as full as it was on day one. Out of that, only two were awake enough to comprehend the question, know the answer, and dare to raise their hands. Finally he glanced to the first hand he saw—a psychology major junior who voiced more opinions than Ana could think, and all of them seemed to come straight from a book somewhere—and nodded in her direction.

"Isn't it the general view of what crime is? What society as a whole agrees on to be crime?"

Costello nodded again as he scooped up a piece of chalk and turned to face the large chalkboard behind him. "Exactly. It's what we all tend to agree on to be crime." Quickly, he scrawled the word "consensus" on the chalkboard before turning back around to face the class.

As Ana had learned, each teacher had a different way of teaching, but Costello was the first one that she encountered who wrote either repetitive or seemingly meaningless words or phrases on the board. Normally, whatever a professor took the time to write was important, but in this class, it was just…random. Nonetheless, she copied down the word and a brief explanation for it.

"Murder. Theft. Rape. Assault. We all think of those as crime, right?"

The few students awake actually nodded. While Ana was wide awake, no thanks to her earlier adrenaline rush, she remained quiet and still, as always.

"Now what about the conflict view of crime?"

Psych major was the only one to raise her hand this time, so the professor continued on anyway. Ana figured he must have been in a bad mood to both start the lecture in a rush and not try to squeeze answers out of unsuspecting, half-asleep students. "It's what the people in power say is crime, right?"

One more word was jotted down onto the chalkboard, "conflict."

"While criminologists generally go by the consensus view, the limitations it creates makes it less likely to be the main view of crime. Not all people and not all societies can agree on what is a crime. We might think murder is, but some civilizations have allowed human sacrifice. We might thing theft is, but other societies share everything. In turn, crime then becomes more of a political act than anything as the people with power define it.

"I'm going to make a list of events," he continued, turning back to the board and writing from memory. "And I want you all to organize them in a list depending on the seriousness of the crime."

Slowly, the list grew, and as the professor wrote it on the board in front of the class, most—including Ana—copied it onto their papers in front of them. Once he was finished, students had already begun concentrating on the list, skimming through to determine what was worse. As Costello reached for his steaming coffee mug, Ana quickly finished her list. This class was the first exposure to "crime", more-so than what the exaggerated news reported. Living a sheltered life in the suburbs of Phoenix and then moving to Hilo gave her little experience to any of the things on the list other than what she read, watched, or heard.

1. Murder of 12 adults by planting a bomb.  
2. Murder of a child.  
3. Sexual abuse of a child.  
4. Kidnapping.  
5. Robbery at gun point.  
6. Date Rape.  
7. Police brutality.  
8. Burglary.  
9. Performing an illegal abortion.  
10. Dumping toxic waste in a river.  
11. Insurance fraud.  
12. Denying a job because of race.  
13. Paying for sex.  
14. Being a prostitute.  
15. Speeding.

"Whatever order you numbered your list, I want you all to explain to me why you put them in that order. Why your number one is number one, and so on. Nothing fancy—you can even scribble down your explanations on the paper in front of you. But before we go on, does anyone have an idea which nation has the highest crime rate?"

This time at least five hands went up in front of Ana.

"The U.S." a decent looking boy seated on one of the aisle seats a good ten rows in front of Ana answered.

"Good. And what city?"

At this only two people rose their hands, the same two from the beginning of class. This time Costello called on the other student, a small girl with dark black hair. "Gotham?"

"The number of crimes reported by the UCR in Gotham is at least twice as high as any other city anywhere in the world and very under reported.

"Now, does anyone want to explain what 'crimes of the powerless' might mean…?" Costello continued talking, but Ana tried to make that list sink in. In north Scottsdale, crime was rare. It was the same story in Hilo. The most she knew about this stuff was what she saw in movies. Her car had been broken into once when she had lived in Phoenix, and Phoenix itself was notorious for its speeders—herself included, but that was the extent of her exposure to crime.


	3. I:II

**Monday, February 7, 2000; 10:24am - Hilo International Airport; Hilo, Hawaii**

"There must be another way, sir. A week is absolutely absurd!" Alfred was fuming, but aside from his raised voice he managed to keep his composure better than Bruce ever could have. Even so, seeing Alfred this furious was amusing enough to keep Bruce stifling his smiles behind yawns.

"Look, I'm sorry, but it'll take a couple of days for the parts to arrive and a couple more for me to repair 'em," the large—girth-wise, mechanic refuted. "There's nothing I can do."

Clenching his fists to maintain the composure he always held, Alfred only gave a curt nod in parting before stalking back towards where Bruce was sitting. Taking his ice blue eyes away from the wet and rainy runway, he glanced up at the approaching butler. "I'm afraid, Master Wayne, that we'll be here for quite some time. Some quick trip to Sydney this was," he muttered, and Bruce struggled to keep a smile back yet again.

"Well, where are we stuck, Alfred?" the young billionaire questioned as he stood. Alfred gathered their two duffle bags next to him, all the luggage they had brought.

"Hilo, Hawaii, sir. And a long way from Princeton, I'm afraid. Or Gotham, for that matter," he added in a mutter.

Bruce couldn't stop the snicker that escaped him, earning a glance from the butler. "I'm sure I'm not missing much."

After renting a large luxury Chrysler, they were given directions to the nearest, high-rate hotel. Even though it was a couple miles north of Hilo and closer to a tiny town—no, village, called Honomu, it only took twenty minutes to find it. And by high-rate, it was a tiny, four-star hotel for honeymooners. Though Alfred was clearly in a sour mood—well, clear enough for Bruce to see but anyone else to think that was how butlers normally acted—the cozy little inn itself actually raised his spirits slightly.

It had been Alfred who had practically forced Bruce on a vacation to Sydney to enjoy summer on a southern hemisphere beach in hopes of lightening his mood, and, as Bruce suspected, spend some time with him. After all, Bruce hadn't been back to the Manor since he left Gotham University, much to both Alfred's and Rachel's dismay. Not even for Christmas. So Alfred had taken it upon himself to kidnap the Prince of Gotham and force him on a vacation. Alfred couldn't put up with Bruce's brooding around the hotel for longer than three days.

And here they were, stuck halfway between their departure point and their destination with a broken engine. If Bruce was absolutely jumping to return to the east coast, it would be very possible for the pair to purchase tickets on the next flight out of the tiny airport. But he had no motivation to be jumping to do anything at all, let alone return to the cold and dreary New England area.

So Hilo it was.

The lobby was quaint and homey, but as clean as a hospital. Marble tile brandished the floor and there was a plant or a pot of flowers wherever there was space for one without cluttering the spacious room. A couple different sofas, all a deep maroon color, created small, incomplete squares with a polished wooden coffee table in the center of each. An unnecessary fireplace was against the far, west wall while most of the east wall was covered in glass, which was speckled with rain, to reveal the rocky shoreline less than a football field away. The front desk was also made of marble, matching the floor, and behind it, a young Hawaiian woman sat busy at work, her deep brown hair falling in ringlets over her shoulders. Aside from her and them, there were only two others in the lobby; one was a teenaged bellboy and the other was a curious guest who looked to be nearly the same age as Bruce, peeking down halls and through windows.

That thought alone made him cringe inwardly. The poor man was married, a new gold ring brandishing his left ring finger. And he looked to be barely out of college, if he even went. Romance of any sort was not Bruce's thing. Rachel came close, dangerously close, and he supposed if he ever did marry anyone—not that he was planning on it at all—it would be her. But he hadn't seen her since he left Gotham University and the most prominent image in his mind when he thought of her was their childhood days at the manor, laughing and playing; not their early college days where whenever she had time, she tried her best to cheer him up. Wasn't there another hotel good enough for Alfred's standards somewhere on this island?

"Hi, how may I help you gentlemen?" the secretary asked as she finally glanced up, a wide and bright smile lighting up her pretty features. No "aloha?"

Bruce tried his best to smile back, but he just wasn't in the mood. Thinking of Rachel dampened his spirits just as much as any nightmare of his could.

Alfred, instead, took the honors. "We would like a room, if you please, miss."

At the suggestion of a single room, Bruce awoke slightly from his depressed trance, but as the secretary was already keying in information on the computer in front of her, Bruce did notice that this hotel wasn't exactly the Ritz Carlton with thousands upon thousands of rooms. And even if it was a cold and rainy February, the off-season, he doubted this place even had a dozen rooms.

"Yes, of course. For how many nights?"

At this, Alfred hesitated, still slightly angry that it would take a week to fix an engine. "A week, please," Bruce answered for him, earning a quick glance over and a nod from the woman as she arranged a room. Bruce was used to being stared at by now, so he paid the glance over little mind as she continued.

"Alright. And may I have a name?"

"Alfred Pennyworth," Alfred answered for Bruce as the young billionaire glanced out the wall of windows. The rain had gotten heavier since they had left the airport.

Nodding, the woman quickly entered the information and produced a key card to set next to the keyboard in front of her. "You'll be charged for the first night now, but the rest of your stay will be charged when you leave. The total will be $359."

Alfred was fishing for his own wallet in his pocket, but Bruce had been paying enough attention to beat him to the punch. Handing the sleek, platinum credit card to the secretary, she took it and began typing the information in right away.

It took her less than thirty seconds to reach the name on the card and pause, her deep brown eyes glancing up to Bruce as she struggled to keep her mouth closed. Uneasily, she finished up with the credit card information and handed it back to the boy billionaire with a wider grin than before.

"Alright, Mr. Pennyworth, Mr. Wayne. Your room is room eight, on the second floor and at the east end of the inn. Check out time is 11am. Enjoy your stay," she added, her eyes remaining locked on Bruce.

He made sure to turn away first before he frowned, earning a knowing smirk from the elder butler.


	4. I:III

**Monday, February 7, 2000; 11:52am - The University of Hawaii; Hilo, Hawaii**

"Did you make it on time?" Travis jested as he slid into line next to Ana. She just rolled her eyes and ignored him. "You didn't? Even with your driving?"

She flicked his arm, and he grinned in response instead of wincing. If they'd been someplace other than the campus center, she would've flat out smacked him upside the head.

"So what are we having today? The usual 'I'm going to pretend I'm not hungry and just get a soda?'"

"I don't pretend that I'm not hungry, Travis," she replied absently, pretending to focus on the menu hanging above the cashier, who was three people ahead of them. It was a sub sandwich joint, one of the other small food places located inside the center. And though it had been ages since she'd eaten any kind of sandwich, as she rebelled against bread for the good of both her figure and her digestive tract, this place had fresh fruit. And soda.

"Uhuh, right. Whatever you say, _anela_." She opened her mouth to protest against what he had just called her, but he continued with a sly grin. "So, we still up for tonight?"

"Travis, I'll be going with or without you," she replied as she ignored his earlier remark.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tell me, why don't we run together more often?"

"Because you usually want to stop and get something to eat halfway through the run?" she suggested.

"No! Because…" He kept his mouth open, attempting to dig some excuse from the many he had stock piled, but one glance in front of him saved him from saying anything else. Finding himself at the front of the line, he quickly stepped forward to flash a dashing smile to the girl behind the cash register. It took Travis longer to place his order than it took Ana to just request a soda. She'd grown used to his flirtatious nature, and she was more than happy when he applied it to other women and not to her—as long as it didn't slow them down.

Once they had gotten out of line, Travis with his receipt in his hand instead of in the garbage, Ana quickly decided she would be the one to find a table today. Travis was busy eyeing a girl while she was filling her coffee cup only a few feet away. Without any warning at all, she slipped away to find an empty table along the far wall. If he couldn't find her because he was too busy ogling someone, it was his own fault.

Fake plants lined the large cafeteria-like room, and windows lined the very wall their table was against. Outside the windows, students passed by on foot, long boards, or bikes with a luscious green background and several other brick buildings behind them. She slipped into one of the chairs, letting her backpack hit the ground next to her with a thud. Taking a small sip from the rim of the Mountain Dew-filled cup, she winced as the carbonation reached her throat. She tried not to have soda. Years of swimming had made her quit drinking the carbonated drinks. But she only swam recreationally now, and on the days that she simply wasn't hungry, a few calories from a soda were enough to keep both her body and her stomach happy. But now Mountain Dew, ironically, was now the only soda she could stomach.

"…You won't believe this!" a girl gushed as she, skidded into one of the chairs at the table behind Ana. Joining the other two girls that sat at the table, the third woman rushed on as she dumped her bag on the chair next to her. Ana did her best to tune her out while gazing out the window and sipping her soda, but it was difficult not to hear someone squeal right behind you. "You'll never believe who my sister just checked in at her hotel!"

The other two girls didn't answer.

"Bruce Wayne!"

"No way!" one of the others yelped as a cup slammed against the table. The other must have either been too shocked to speak or indifferent, because Ana didn't hear a thing from her.

"Yes way! He just checked in this morning. My sister just sent me the text, and she says that he's totally hot…" Giving up, Ana dug through her bag to retrieve her CD player. She was barely in the mood to deal with Travis, she definitely didn't want to listen to _that._

What seemed like mere seconds instead of minutes passed and Travis suddenly slid into the seat across from her, slamming his tray down in front of him. He didn't seem to notice the wrapped up sub slide across the tray or the large drink lean dangerously to the side. He, instead, was busy lip singing the song she was listening to. Her eyes narrowed as her finger rolled along the volume button to turn it down to a volume only she could hear. He simply grinned as he unwrapped his sandwich.

**Monday, February 7, 2000; 2:13pm - The University of Hawaii; Hilo, Hawaii**

Her last class of the day had been anatomy and physiology, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she exited the building along with dozens of other students. Their professor had pushed their next exam back to the following Monday instead of having it in two days. Ana had yet to even think about studying, making that delay a lifesaver. Now she had all weekend to study.

But her relief quickly evaporated when she spotted who was leaning against her truck.

"Travis, I thought you had to work this afternoon."

He shrugged, his eyes hidden beneath the large and unnecessary aviators darting away from a passing brunette to meet hers. "I have to work _tomorrow _afternoon_._ Besides, won't you just be wasting gas coming to pick me up later?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line. He smiled, his obnoxiously white teeth standing out against his dark skin. Without another word, she dumped her backpack into the back of the truck and got into the driver's seat. Before she had the ancient truck started, he was already in the passenger seat, seat belt on.

"So, Ana, while I figured we were out and about…" Travis began once they had reached the main road, leaving the university buildings growing smaller in her review mirror. "…we could, you know, stop by Reuben's?" And there it was. As soon as she opened her mouth, he continued on like a child desperately trying to reason with his mother. "It's on the way back to your apartment, and you were the one complaining earlier that I always stop for food when we run, so why not eat now and I won't be hungry?"

"We're going four hours from now."

He smiled sheepishly. "I'll eat a big meal."

She shook her head with a sigh. "You're hopeless Travis, do you know that?"

He nodded like it was a compliment.

* * *

_**A/N:** [1] 'A__nela' means 'angel' in Hawaiian. [2] I'm pretty sure there was text messaging in the year 2000. No, it wasn't as popular as today, obviously, but I think it was available. [3] Yay for CD players!_


	5. I:IV

**Monday, February 7, 2000; 3:10pm - The Palms Cliff House Inn; Honomu, Hawaii**

He was starving. Whether it was dinner time in Gotham or breakfast in Sydney, whatever time it was here didn't matter.

Alfred had been on the phone for the past hour trying to negotiate a way for the needed jet part to arrive quicker than the mechanic had predicted. Though Bruce was unable to listen in, due to Alfred remaining on the patio downstairs while he made his calls, Bruce still figured that it wasn't getting the actual part that was the problem. Even with William Earle as acting CEO, Alfred still had enough connections to get what he needed without flashing the Wayne name around. The problem he now faced, however, was probably transportation. The east coast was getting hit by a blizzard and the part they needed was, conveniently, only in Gotham.

Grabbing his jacket and the rental's keys Alfred had left in the room, Bruce headed down to the car without bothering the old Brit.

Minutes later, he had followed the highway south to run into Hilo. The first place to eat he saw off the highway, he pulled into, which happened to be a small Mexican restaurant.

At 3:30 in the afternoon, the restaurant was nearly empty, just as he expected it to be. An older man sat at one of the tables close to the door while a young couple were seated farther in the restaurant. The place looked to barely have ten tables inside, but a quick glance towards the double doors on the other side of the restaurant hinted at a patio with more seating room. The place was poorly decorated, with red tile and red brick walls and the occasional picture hanging. It was too small to put anything else inside, though. With that glance around, Bruce assumed there was no host here and moved to the table in between the two groups, close to the edge. He was only feet away from the menus hanging from the walls. It took a couple of minutes, but finally a woman who looked to be older than him emerged from the door-less archway only a couple paces away from him and greeted him with a smile. She had dark skin, wore a flowery dress with a name tag reading 'Linda' attached near her shoulder, and her short hair pulled half back while the rest were in waves over the back of her neck. When she smiled, her teeth were crooked, but bright, and her green eyes seemed to brighten at the same time.

"Aloha and welcome to Reuben's. What can I get for ya?"

Bruce forced a smile, which seemed to brighten the woman's, causing the premature wrinkles around her green eyes to show. "Well, I'm not quite sure. Do you have any suggestions?" Truth be told, he'd never eaten Mexican food in his life. Sure, there was those Americanized Mexican restaurants in Gotham, but not only were they few in number, they were fake. This place looked a little more like the real deal. Even more, the menu across from him was in Spanish.

"Well, for someone like you, I'd recommend 'El Cholo'. It's one of our specialties ," she commented sweetly as she leaned closer. Now he could smell her perfume—a spicy, yet sweet smell that reminded him of the older women that attended the Wayne Foundation balls and gossiped over how handsome he was becoming.

It was a habit to be charming, probably something he inherited from his father—or even learned from Alfred, and it was something he did far too often—nearly every chance he got whenever he met someone new. People like Alfred and Rachel, the people who knew the real Bruce Wayne, hardly ever got to see that charmingly fake side of him. The downside was that his charm often worked too well. Here was one instance.

He nodded in agreement, without a clue as to what kind of food he'd get. "That sounds great."

Linda quickly disappeared with her grin and perfume trailing behind her.

As Bruce leaned back, his eyes began to drift again. Little details began to jump out at him. A small TV hung in the corner above the couple's table, tuned to a sports channel where reruns of basketball were being played. Small metal stars hung from the ceiling at random intervals. A small window above the condiments bar and soda machine located only feet from him revealed a view of the kitchen. And above all, the place was old.

His observing moved to the other restaurant patrons. The elder man had already finished and was in the middle of getting up when Bruce began to watch him out of the corner of his eye. He looked like a tourist getting away from an over-demanding wife for lunch. Or he was one of those permanent tourists, one who still dressed like the tourists you see in movies. He had the classic Hawaiian shirt with a deep maroon shirt beneath it and he wore long shorts and tennis shoes, despite the rain. A hat labeled 'Nebraska' across the top kept the rain from his face, and he was overall a pale, slightly overweight man in his early 60's, Bruce assumed. If Bruce ever managed to get that old, hopefully he'd live a quaint and content life like that. With reality knocking at a mental door, he knew that would never be the case.

Once the man shuffled outside, Bruce's attention turned to the couple beneath the TV. Or at least, he had assumed they had been a 'couple'. Closer observation hinted that they were nothing of the sort. The male looked like he'd stepped out of an Abercrombie ad. Not only did he have the looks—his dark hair with natural highlights was longer than Bruce's and kept falling into his eyes as he moved, his skin was darkly tanned, his eyes were a bright green, and he looked fit overall—but he dressed the part as well. Flip flops, tan and long shorts, a navy blue polo shirt, a genuine puka-shell necklace. A light brown windbreaker was draped over the back of his chair; he probably only wore it to keep his clothes from getting wet. The girl, however, who sat at the table with her back to Bruce, looked the opposite. She wore black sweatpants with both legs rolled up to reveal tan and toned legs, small ankles, and long bare feet, as she crossed her ankles beneath her chair. Her kicked-off shoes, located next to her feet, were black shoe-string-less Vans. A maroon tang top revealed more tan skin and how slender she was, as it hugged her upper torso. Her dark blond hair was pulled back into what looked like a bun, with stray hairs falling to the side at random.

The two suddenly laughed loudly, bringing Bruce to observe them both. The male was attempting to eat a large burrito, which was falling apart in the process—apparently what they were laughing about. As large chunks of meat and beans fell to his plate, the girl set down her quesadilla and handed him some napkins. He quickly used them all, which caused the girl to laugh again before she stood to head for the condiments bar opposite of Bruce to retrieve more. And as she passed, he managed to get a quick look at her face.

Scratch his thought of her being the opposite of Mr. Abercrombie. Aside from how she dressed, she could fit the part as well. Bright blue eyes, a gorgeous face that models Bruce knew in Gotham would be jealous of. And she looked tall. Her hips were a good few inches above the tables as she passed them by, hinting her height to be closer to Bruce's than anything else.

But before Bruce could take any more notes about the girl, Linda suddenly emerged from the archway carrying a plate with a large, steaming burrito, similar to the one that Mr. Abercrombie was having difficulty with. "Here you are, sir," she said as she set down the plate in front of him. "Do you need anything else?"

Hiding his shock at what he was about to attempt to eat, he plastered on that fake smile. "A drink would be nice."

"Oh, you can get a drink whenever you'd like right there, at the soda machine. But I'll get you something. What would you like?"

This had to be the most informal restaurant he'd ever been to. Well, it was a step up from McDonald's (which he'd been to all of once with Rachel, and the paparazzi had a field day with it). "That's fine, I'll get one myself. Thank you."

Her eyes dulled suddenly, but her smile remained full and she nodded before retreating back through the archway. As Bruce began to stand, he spotted her face near the small window, waiting to peek out at her newest patron. Bruce sighed as he approached the cups next to the soda machine.

The girl was still there, filling her cup with ice water with one hand and grabbing as many napkins as she could with the other. She hesitantly glanced sideways at Bruce and when their eyes accidentally met, she shed a cute, bashful smile before returning her attention to her nearly overflowing water cup. And then she spun out of his way, gracefully managing to avoid running into both him and the small army of chairs and tables about the restaurant.

Bruce, now, focused on the drink machine in front of him. Soda. Tea. Water. Even a half-empty pot of coffee sat off to one side. Opting for the sweetened tea, he quickly filled his cup, grabbed a few paper napkins of his own, and returned to his table.

Now he was faced with eating this…monster. If Rachel was here to see him, she'd be just like how that girl was acting with Mr. Abercrombie. Laughing as she helped. He scooped up the burrito with both hands and took a large bite into the gooey thing. Success. The back of the burrito hadn't burst open and he'd managed just a single, manageable bite of beef, beans, cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, onions, and more things he couldn't put a name to yet.

Meanwhile, the girl returned to her seat, where the pair murmured just quietly enough so Bruce couldn't hear, even though he was distracted enough by his meal. After a couple more bites, he could hear them again at normal volume.

"So, now what are we going to do?" the male asked.

"How about you finish your burrito first? Or what's left of it," the girl replied with an audible smile.

"Fine. But then what?"

"If I take you back to my apartment, you're doing homework. And you're letting me at least get some of mine done."

"Ana, you take the fun out of everything."

"Someone has to act as your mother. Now finish so we can go, sheesh."

Bruce had finally managed to break open the back of the burrito, earning a similar mess to the one in front of Mr. Abercrombie. The mess made his inward laugh turn into an inward sigh. How could anyone eat these things?

* * *

**Monday, February 7, 2000; 7:33pm - The Palms Cliff House Inn; Honomu, Hawaii**

How did Alfred _do_ that? No matter what expression Bruce wore, how he slumped his shoulders, how he shuffled his feet, even how he spoke, Alfred always knew what mood he was in. Always.

Maybe one day he'd figure out how he did it.

Bruce was good at hiding emotions—or so he thought. Alfred wasn't. That smile in his blue eyes was enough to know that he knew Bruce was in a better mood than when he had left. But other than that smile, the butler hadn't said a single word. And Bruce hadn't wanted him to.

Now, hours after the incident, Bruce was lounging on the king-sized bed, absent-mindedly flipping through channels. He wasn't in the mood to do anything, but he was restless. Even at Princeton, or Yale, or even Gotham U, he didn't stay cooped up indoors for long. It wasn't the rain that was holding him back, but Alfred. Bruce easily remembered the numerous incidents he'd put the poor butler through. One that stood out in his mind was when his impatience got the best of him and he took it upon himself to learn how to ski at night in a blizzard. Needless to say, that wasn't the only thing that didn't end well. Or end with him in a hospital.

Here there wasn't much to do, anyway. Especially nothing dangerous. Hike a volcano. Snorkel along the reefs. Unless he purposely went out of his way to do something dangerous, which was more often than not, it would be hard to end up in a hospital here.

But, nonetheless, he remained on the bed, flipping channel to channel. It was 73 degrees. Tour rates were being discounted. A new shopping mall was opening. There was going to be a Three Stooges marathon on Wednesday.

But though his mind absorbed everything that flashed on the screen, he thought of other things. Of past things.

Alfred entered the room while Bruce was on round three of channel surfing. He paused once the door was shut, allowing his blue hues to take in the scene in the dark room. He could easily see the television flipping from channel to channel, as well as his young charge propped atop the bed, his chin on one hand and the remote in the other. That blank stare made Alfred frown more than anything; he knew Bruce's thoughts were far from what was on TV.

"The rain has stopped, sir. Perhaps you're hungry for some supper?"

Channel 51. Channel 52. Channel 53.

"Very well, then," Alfred said as he turned for the door again. But he paused just short of reaching the handle, his shoulders slumped. Carefully he glanced over his shoulder, and still the only muscle that Bruce had moved was his finger. With a sigh, Alfred reached for the doorknob. "Perhaps if you didn't keep yourself cooped up indoors, you might find that you would enjoy a vacation," the butler mumbled as his wrist turned. But the outburst kept him from opening the door more than an inch.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bruce grumbled, the television finally finishing a conversation on a quiet volume while the remote lay abandoned under his hand.

When Alfred turned, he found those ice blue eyes set firmly on him. And while anyone else might cower, Alfred stood his ground. He knew Bruce inside and out, and the only thing that frightened him was the death wish he harbored. "I mean that you should be enjoying yourself. Most people would consider Hawaii a paradise."

"I'm not most people," Bruce muttered, his eyes darting back to the television. But the remote still remained untouched.

"And I know that, sir. But don't you think that you deserve a vacation? At least once?"

Bruce's expression hardened as it returned to the television. "No."

"Sir—"

"Alfred, why don't _you_ take a vacation?" Bruce suddenly replied in a darker tone, making the butler's eyes narrow.

"If this mood of yours has anything to do with your parents—"

"And what if it does, Alfred?" Suddenly Bruce was on his feet, surprising Alfred by how fast the younger man could move. "What does it matter?"

"It matters because it is the only mood I ever see you in. Harboring some anti-social death wish is no way to go through life, Master Wayne."

Bruce cast Alfred the darkest glare he could muster as a reply and he swiftly stalked past the butler to reach for the door. Recovering, Alfred followed with an equally angered expression on his aging features. "And where do you think you're going?"

"Out," Bruce nearly growled over his shoulder as he expanded the distance between them.

Alfred hurried to follow, but stopped once he had reached the bottom of the stairs and Bruce was alongside the Chrysler. As the young billionaire quickly slipped inside, Alfred raised his fingers to rub the bridge of his nose in irritation. His blue hues eyed the car from over his fingers as it started with a purr before squealing down the palm tree-lined driveway towards a seemingly empty highway less than a hundred yards away.

In the driver's seat of the luxury car, Bruce fumed. But it wasn't at Alfred. He was never mad at Alfred, no matter what he said to get a rise out of him. But, yet, he didn't know what he was mad at. He knew he didn't want a vacation. There would be no more vacations for him. And he knew that he was probably only mad because of the mood he was in when Alfred decided to hassle him. But other than that, he really _didn't know_. Maybe if he circled the island enough times, he could figure that out. Let his anger run its course.

He floored it down the driveway, racing past the palm trees that lined the cement. And after one quick turn to jump onto the highway, he was speeding north.


	6. I:V

**Monday, February 7, 2000; 7:38pm - Hawaii State Highway 19; Honomu, Hawaii**

It was amazing out.

The rain had stopped about an hour after sundown, leaving the ground still wet and the air fresh. The temperature probably hovered somewhere around 70 degrees, but in her track shorts and tight tang top, Ana felt like she could run all night. And she and Travis nearly had.

They started when the sun had set, not caring about the rain. They made it to Waikamalo Park, nearly fifteen miles north of Hilo, before turning around and heading back. Normally Ana simply jogged a total of five or ten miles every couple of days. But running with Travis was a competition. _How far could they go?_ Ana tried not think about the fact that they were going to run more than a marathon tonight.

It was purely runner's high that kept Ana going at her current speed while keeping her breathing relatively steady. Travis was in the same condition, but they both knew that if they started talking, they'd be gasping for air before they got half a mile. It was why they were both silent, working to keep their pace. The only sounds around them was the crashes of the stormy waves hitting the reefs and shores not far from where they ran, the rhythmic patter of their shoes as they hit the ground, and the occasional passing car along the highway they jogged along.

Ana's only concern now was actually stopping. Once she stopped, the pain of running as far as they had at a faster pace than she would've liked would come rushing back. That part was never any fun. But for now she felt like she really could run all night. The winter storm, that was bound to continue through the night and for the next couple of days, had dropped the temperature, and the combination of the rain that threatened to fall and the cool ocean breeze always gave her more energy, just like any rainy or stormy day did. Travis had quickly learned that Ana was always restless on stormy days, and he would be required to join her on some ridiculous physical activity, whether it was trying to surf, hiking the volcano, or nearly run a marathon at full speed. While most preferred to curl up indoors and watch movies or read books, Ana wanted to do anything and everything outside. It was the sunny days that made her lethargic.

Most of their run had been uneventful. Until just south of Honomu, outside of one of the brand new, fancy hotels this side of the island. As they prepared to jog across the driveway, a car suddenly flew past without so much as a glance in either direction for other cars or for them. While Ana skidded to a sudden stop, Travis took off at a full sprint, stopping once to snatch a rock. "Watch it, jerk!" he shouted, hurling the rock towards the sleek, black luxury car. Ana laughed as she heard the 'ding', breathing heavily as she shook her head, and Travis jogged slowly back to her. "Tourists," he muttered with an exhausted grin.

"No, newlyweds in their first feud," she replied breathlessly, casting a knowing glance down the driveway. Though brand new, The Palms Cliff House Hotel was known for its small size, cozy privacy, and honeymoon specials.

He chuckled as he stopped in front of her, bending to rest his hands on his knees. "Well, alright. I'm done. We're walking back."

"No! No walking!" Ana exclaimed as she continued to bounce on her toes, fighting the sudden fire that was enveloping her lungs and legs. "Walking back will take all night."

He glanced up. "Like you have anything better to do?" he huffed between breaths with a raised eyebrow and a lazy smirk appearing.

"Are you two alright?" a voice suddenly called off to their side. They both glanced towards the approaching man. Ana stopped bouncing while Travis attempted to stand up straight. The man looked to be in his fifties or sixties, with pale skin, and receding white hair. And his words had a British accent to them.

While Travis glanced north, Ana replied politely as she tried her best not to sound out of breath, "We're fine, sir, thanks."

"I'm terribly sorry about that—"

"Wait, were you driving?" Travis suddenly asked, finally able to stand upright again.

"No, but I'm afraid that I'm responsible for the driver's driving." Travis raised a confused brow as the elder man finally came to a stop only a couple of feet from them. Though he was old, he towered above them both.

"Then don't worry about it. It happens all the time," Travis managed to remark with a lopsided grin, though his eyes still looked confused.

"Well, please allow me to make it up to you. Would you like some supper? Or a ride?"

Travis's eyes alit at the mention of food, but Ana quickly answered, "It's alright, thanks. We'd better get going—"

"Aw, come on, Ana. You said yourself you don't want to walk back." She cast a dangerous glare towards him, but while it might work on most children, Travis brushed it off like it wasn't even an annoying fly. "We could definitely use a ride."

"Of course. Allow me to call a cab for you two," the old man replied as he motioned down the driveway.

Ana looked slightly concerned, and before Travis could take a step forward, she grabbed his elbow. "Travis. We'll be fine."

"Ana, relax. You need to learn to live a little. You can't stay cooped up in your solitary lifestyle forever."

She clenched her jaw. "Travis—"

"Dude, his wife nearly plowed us down with their car. And he's offering us a ride back to Hilo in repayment for seeing our lives flash before our eyes."

"Trav—"

"The least we can do is oblige him." With that he quickly caught up with the elder man, who was already slowly making his way back down the driveway.

Ana fumed, but she hurried to catch up with the pair, limping slightly as her legs already began to ache. Now it was just a matter of finally catching her breath and maybe the fire in her lungs would go away. Maybe.

"So, uh, congratulations," Ana heard Travis tell the man as they passed the halfway point of the drive.

"What for, sir?" the man questioned in confusion.

"Aren't you on your honeymoon?" Ana wanted to facepalm herself since he wasn't within arm's reach.

The elder man chuckled lightly. "Why no, sir. My employer and I are staying here for a few days while our plane is repaired."

Now Ana took longer strides to deliberately catch up and stride along side of Travis to keep him in reach of her arm. "Your plane? You have your own plane?"

"It's more of a jet, but yes, my employer does have his own plane."

Ana didn't need to see Travis's face, she could just imagine it. Jaw ready to hit the ground, eyes wide, confusion replaced with curiosity. Now was one of the times she wished he didn't act like the little kid he was, trapped in a twenty-year-old body. "So, was that your employer in the car?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"Oh, my name's Travis. You don't have to call me 'sir,'" Travis suddenly stated.

The elder man smiled as they approached the well-lit hotel. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Travis. I'm afraid calling you 'sir' is just a force of habit. My name is Alfred."

Travis smirked at the new name, apparently liking the sound of it. "Well, it's great to meet you, too, Alfred."

* * *

**Monday, February 7, 2000; 8:09pm - The Palms Cliff House Inn; Honomu, Hawaii**

The entire twenty minutes it took for Alfred to call a taxi from Hilo and wait for it to arrive, Travis continued to ask Alfred questions. But before Ana could entirely restrain him, the elder man seemed to enjoy answering them more than anything. When the taxi actually arrived, they were sitting on the porch just outside of the Palms Cliff House office, listening to Alfred tell them about the time he spent in Egypt. Ana was doing her best to discretely stretch before she regretted it.

"I believe this is your cab, and it is probably best that we don't keep him waiting," Alfred said as he rose from his chair, his kind blue eyes glancing to the idling taxi.

Ana and Travis rose as well—Travis more reluctantly than Ana had ever seen him. "It's been a pleasure, Alfred. And thank you for calling the cab," Ana replied politely, reminding Alfred about the matter of paying the cab driver. He swiftly withdrew his wallet and removed a couple large bills to pay for the taxi, but as he handed them over to Ana, she quickly refused. "Don't worry about it."

Alfred hesitated, and for once Travis didn't say anything. But after a moment, the elder man nodded with a small smile and returned the money to his pocket.

"Yeah, thanks Alfred. I might have to come back some time so you can finish that story. Did you ever find the tomb?" Travis questioned, his green eyes as fascinated as a small child's.

Alfred chuckled. "Well, I'll leave that to your own deciding, Travis."

Travis frowned slightly as Ana couldn't help the smile on her face. "I hope your jet gets repaired soon," Ana continued as the three headed towards the cab.

"Indeed, I do too. Though I would like to invite you both back before that happens. I'm sure Master Wayne would like to meet you both, and I think you two could show him some sights he might actually like."

Travis instantly agreed, but Ana was more hesitant. Sure, she liked Alfred. How could anyone not like him? But her impression of his employer was shaky, at best. After all, he did almost run them over. And he was probably some super rich jerk who made poor Alfred do everything for him. She tried to clear her thoughts; she normally wasn't one to judge. "Maybe—"

"Of course! We come jogging this way all the time," Travis interrupted with a grin, which made Alfred's expression turn to plain amusement.

Ana elbowed Travis before turning towards the taxi, and he quickly followed.

Alfred waved as the taxi turned to drive down the long driveway, but his expression faded just as the taillights did. It would do Bruce some good meeting those two.

* * *

**Monday, February 7, 2000; 8:28pm - Riverside Apartments; Hilo, Hawaii**

The taxi dropped them both off at Ana's apartment complex. Not only was it a shorter drive there, but from there Ana could drive Travis home. Of course, after she fully stretched so she wouldn't be limping around for the next week and after Travis raided her fridge.

"So," Travis began as he flopped down on the couch with both his mouth and hands full of leftover pizza slices. "Don't tell me you didn't like the old dude."

"Of course I liked him, Travis," Ana replied as she stretched her hamstring from the floor, trying to ignore the fact that he was eating her pizza. There were dozens of other things in the fridge—sure, most of them were healthier in comparison to what he was eating now. But he _had_ to eat the pizza.

"Then why don't you want to visit him? Seems like he's gonna get awfully bored, sitting around all day for the next week."

Ana twisted around to glance at Travis, who rose his eyebrows at her. "I'm not going to stop you from seeing him." She switched to another stretch, mumbling under her breath as she did, "If you wanted to see a girl this much, maybe you'd have a girlfriend."

"Hey! Now haven't you ever thought that I'm just biding my time? Waiting for the opportune moment?"

"Nope. I've always thought that you were simply too afraid of commitment, Travis."

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward on the couch. "Afraid of commitment? Says the girl who has only one friend."

"Nuh—"

"Don't you dare deny it, Ana. You hardly talk to anyone aside from me. What would you do without me?"

She frowned, glad that her stretch was making her face away from him. No, she wasn't a social butterfly, she knew that. Without Travis where would she be? Back to where she was in high school, no doubt. Miserable. Depressed. Just sitting around waiting for things to get better.

"Ha, I'm right, aren't I?" Travis finally said after Ana had remained quiet for a few moments.

In one quick move, Ana was on her feet and striding towards the small kitchen. Travis's jesting quickly turned into a frown as he stood to follow her, abandoning the pizza slices on the small coffee table. "Aw, Ana, don't be like that. I was just messing around."

She just shrugged as she opened the refrigerator to scour for something, anything good to eat/drink.

He set his hand on top of hers as it rested on top of the open door. She paused in her search, glancing from the fridge to his hand to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go there. Besides," he added with that lopsided smile of his, "I've tried that method already. It doesn't work."

She sighed as she stood, sliding her hand out from under his just to ruffle his hair with it. "Yeah, I know you have. Try it with someone else, someone who has less issues, and it just might." She smiled as she grabbed a Mountain Dew before shutting the refrigerator door. "So you want to see Alfred again?" Ana continued as she moved back into the other room.

Travis nodded, but grabbed another slice of pizza from the large box in the fridge before following. "Duh."

"Well, it's 11 miles. Go run there tomorrow," she replied with a grin as she resumed her stretching on the floor.

"Ha." Travis flopped back onto the couch, reaching for one of the other pieces left on the coffee table. "Not funny." He set one slice upside down on the other and shoved them into his mouth. Ana just rolled her eyes and reached for her toes.


	7. I:VI

**Tuesday, February 8, 2009; 2:11am – The Palms Cliff House Inn; Honomu, Hawaii**

The room was quiet when he returned. Burnt logs smoldered in the fireplace and a single light was left on. Alfred was asleep in the large chair, still dressed in his usual dark tan slacks and deep green sweater vest. The book he had been reading just barely remained in his hands and his half-moon reading glasses were still on the end of his nose.

Pausing as he observed his oldest friend, Bruce couldn't help but feel bad. Alfred didn't deserve his anger. Hell, between him and Rachel, they were the only two who gave a rat's ass about him anymore. And they were the two he took out his anger on most.

He'd sped halfway around the island at double the speed limit, but managed not to get a speeding ticket until he reached Kailua-Kona—or at least that's what he remembered the officer's badge to say. The instant the young officer read the name on his driver's license, though, the cop's demeanor obviously changed. He was still cited, but at only half the speed he was actually going.

But Bruce didn't immediately speed off, continuing his _Vanishing Point_ drive. While the young cop disappeared down the highway, Bruce had gotten out of the car and looked around.

He was just north of the tiny town, its lights twinkling faintly despite it only being a couple of miles away. To the north of him the stars were clouded, reminding him briefly of Gotham. There were no stars in Gotham. Too much pollution and light clouded the sky, and even during the day the sun seemed to be hidden behind a haze.

But here the sun was bright and the stars were countless. Well, except for that spot to the north where low hanging clouds shrouded some of the constellations.

And the tide of the ocean was easy to hear. Another difference from his city. Gotham Harbor barely uttered any sound, aside from the caw of seagulls and the low fog horn of an oil tanker. Here the ocean was loud. He could hear it even in the confines of his room in the Palms Cliff House.

He didn't know how long he sat there listening to the ocean, watching the stars overhead. But however long he did stay there, it calmed him down better than anything else would have.

The rest of the drive back to Hilo had been at the speed limit.

Deciding not to disturb the old butler, Bruce turned off the light and headed to bed.

* * *

**Tuesday, February 8, 2009; 10:01am – The Palms Cliff House Inn; Honomu, Hawaii**

It was a bright and early ten o'clock in the morning when Bruce strolled into the next room of the villa, bleary eyed. Alfred was folding up the last of some clothes, preparing to take them to a dry cleaners. The butler hesitated in the chore, glancing up, unsure of his charge's current mood. But whatever he saw in Bruce's expression satisfied him and he straightened. "Good morning, Master Wayne."

"Morning, Alfred," Bruce replied sheepishly, his eyes still adjusting to the brighter light in this room.

"Did you sleep well, sir?"

Bruce nodded as he eyed the small pile of clothes in front of Alfred, getting his bearings. Surprisingly he had slept well. No nightmares, no restless thoughts. Nothing.

Alfred refrained from chuckling. "Would you like some breakfast? I could fetch some—"

"No, that's alright, Alfred," Bruce interrupted in a more coherent state than he was seconds before. "I'll go get something."

Alfred watched his employer thoughtfully as he strolled out the door, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and solid navy pajama pants. And he was barefoot. Once Bruce had disappeared, Alfred didn't bother to stop the smile from his face. Seeing Bruce like that reminded him of younger days.

* * *

**Tuesday, February 8, 2009; 10:04am – The Palms Cliff House Inn; Honomu, Hawaii**

The inn had already stopped serving breakfast, but Bruce figured he might as well ask the kitchen if they had any cereal laying around. He didn't care for a large scale breakfast.

But finding the kitchen, on the other hand, was proving to be more difficult.

It was his third trip through the lobby before the young secretary, the same one as yesterday, finally decided to speak up. "Do you need help finding something, Mr. Wayne?"

He glanced up at her as her eyes remained locked on him. For some reason, he just now recognized how cold the marble floor was beneath his feet. "Uh, I was just wondering where the kitchen was."

She smiled brightly and quickly rounded the desk to approach him. "I can show you where it is, Mr. Wayne. Right this way."

He rose his eyebrows helplessly and followed.

"So, Mr. Wayne, what brings you to Hilo?" she questioned coyly, slowing in her steps to walk alongside him.

"This is just a short stop, I'm afraid," he replied uneasily. He'd just woken up from the first peaceful night's rest in forever; it was too early for him to be thinking coherently.

"Oh really? Well, if you'd like, I can show you some of the sights around Hawai'i. The island's beautiful."

He nodded before he realized he was nodding. "I'm sure it is," he recovered.

"Here we are, Mr. Wayne. Would you like some help in getting some breakfast?"

"No, that's alright. I think I can manage from here. Thank you," he replied quickly as he opened the door.

The woman hesitated, slightly put-out, but she eventually returned to her post behind the front desk.

Bruce, however, cautiously entered the busy kitchen, only taking a couple of steps in as he grew conscious of his bare feet again. Why hadn't he put on shoes? A passing cook quickly took notice of him and stopped with a smile on her youthful features. "Why hello there. How may I help you, sir?"

He offered her a sheepish smile. "I was looking for some breakfast—"

"Ah, of course! What would you like? We've got eggs, ham, fruit, French toast, pancakes, oatmeal, everything. You name it."

"Wow." He knew the Ritz-Carltons of the east coast hated serving food past the allotted time, unless it was for pricey room service. Alfred always had to flash around the Wayne name to get any decent service. But here… Yet another way Hawaii was different from Gotham.

"Of course!"

"I suppose some oatmeal would be nice, if it's not too much trouble—"

"Too much trouble? Ha. Just you wait right there, sir, I'll be right back with that for you."

Bruce blinked as she hurried through the kitchen, easily weaving her way through the other staff members busy with their own work. She was gone less than a minute before she returned with a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of orange juice. "Something to wash it down with," she said to explain the juice. "Now, can I get you anything else?"

He smiled. "No, I think that's all. Thank you."

"Not a problem, sir. Enjoy."

She watched him disappear back through the door that he had snuck in through. Avoiding the front desk, Bruce returned to his room by going outside and taking the stairs.

* * *

**Tuesday, February 8, 2009; 10:17am – The Palms Cliff House Inn; Honomu, Hawaii**

"After your 'vacation', are you planning on returning to Princeton, sir?" Alfred asked out of pure curiosity while Bruce was eating breakfast at the small table in the lounge of the villa suite for two. Despite their heated and brief conversation the day before, neither of them really knew how to take a vacation.

The elder man was now in the bedroom, making the bed. The clothes destined for the dry cleaners were still set on the couch, waiting to be taken. Alfred was probably waiting until Bruce decided to do something for the day before taking them.

Bruce shrugged slightly as he took a large bite of the oatmeal.

"You don't like it there?" Alfred's voice carried through the otherwise quiet suite.

"I like it just fine. I just don't think they feel the same way." Another bite.

Alfred frowned slightly as fluffed the last pillow, ending his morning chore. This would be school number two on Bruce's drop out list, and he definitely was not happy. He was well educated (went to Oxford), and both of Bruce's parents would've never dreamt of being college drop outs. But here he was, flunking out of Ivy Leagues left and right just because he had 'behavior problems'.

"Then perhaps while you're here, you should take a look at the university," he stated plainly as he strode back out the door.

Bruce paused in his breakfast, his dark blue hues falling away from the newspaper that had previous kept his attention. It was obvious there was a hidden meaning to his words. _And see how _difficult_ it is for _them_ to graduate._ Sarcasm layered on thick.

Well, it was a way to pass the day.

* * *

**Tuesday, February 8, 2009; 3:18pm – The University of Hawaii; Hilo, Hawaii**

Bruce was sitting in lecture number two for today, physics (the first had been anthropology), spinning his cell phone in circles on the little fold out table in front of him. The decently sized hall, though it was small in comparison to the Gotham U and Ivy League lecture halls, was roughly halfway filled, and about half of the population had their hands moving furiously over a notebook most of the time. The other half occupied their time like Bruce did, by just sitting and listening, or by people-watching or listening to their CD players turned down to a discrete volume. It was a familiar setting, and one he was comfortable in. Bruce was never bad at school; it was just the social environment he had issues with.

What the professor was teaching he had already learned. Once in Excelsior Academy, again in some of the old books in the Manor, and once more in Yale. Currently, this specific class was studying G-force, how to calculate it, what it's good for, etc. The thing that made the lecture interesting was how this specific professor showed several clips of roller coasters and would instruct the students actually paying attention to answer certain questions about the velocity and force (etc) of the coaster.

But this lecture, just like the last, was about to slip by just as quickly and just as uneventful, if it wasn't for something strangely familiar sitting only five rows in front of him.

The two people who had caught his attention were whispering to each other, or rather one was whispering to the other. The male was the one doing the whispering while the female was feverishly writing notes, her head bowed over her notepad even though she still remained leaning back in her chair. Every now and then, she'd tilt her head to the side to whisper something back, but she never took her eyes from her notes. Bruce leaned forward, cell phone abandoned on the tiny table in his lap, to try and get a better look as he suspiciously recognized who the pair was.

Suddenly her hand stopped writing and she glanced fully to her friend sitting next to her. Her eyes rolled and a smile spread before she glanced up at the professor, who was now wrapping up his lecture. "Well, that's all for today. Don't forget that your papers are due tomorrow by midnight by E-mail."

As the mixture of shuffling and muttering began as students began to gather up their stuff, Bruce's eyes remained fixated on the couple he had seen at that small restaurant the day before. They both stood and headed for the isle, filling in the few spaces between other students as the rush headed out of the lecture hall. Bruce allowed his eyes to trail them shortly until he became more focused on getting out of the room himself. Only once he was up and weaving through students out into the hallway did he realize he had ended up right behind the pair.

"Do me a favor, Travis. Don't ever come to class with me again," she said as they both stepped around a couple of students and headed out of the building.

The man laughed as he rocked on his heels, unaware that he nearly collided into a passing student. "What else do I have to do before work? You're my ride, remember?"

"How about instead of distracting me, you sign up for a class and actually _learn_ something." She looked and sounded like she was serious, but something in Bruce told him that she was kidding. Actually, she reminded him of an old Brit with a dry sense of humor…

"Hey, you're the nerd here, not me."

"Well, speaking of being a nerd, I have another class. Now either go find someone else to harass or be quiet and keep up." She quickly turned on her heel and headed towards the adjacent building, but her steps were slow. The male hesitated, but took only a couple long steps to catch up with her. And she had been waiting for him, as Bruce noticed. The instant they were side by side again, their pace quickened into longer strides meant for their long legs.

With an inward shrug, Bruce began to follow the pair. He wasn't quite sure why they stood out to him, but he figured it was probably just because they were familiar faces by now.

Or maybe it reminded him of him and Rachel, had things been different. Rachel always was the responsible one, babysitting him.

Or maybe he was just waiting for the girl to smack Mr. Abercrombie upside the head.

He remained a few paces behind them as he followed, but something else caught his eye aside from the two in front of him. His eyes darted towards the benches that lined a large planter and there sat a man with a newspaper forgotten on his lap, a large camera covering his face. A couple students passing by noticed the photographer and paused, glancing at him first before following the camera's line of sight towards Bruce.

Bruce's eyes narrowed.

That one small action made the photographer lower his camera slightly, his beady eyes just above the object as they rested on Bruce from a good twenty yards away. It had barely been a day and already the paparazzi that had been assigned to tail him in Sydney were stalking him here.

_Great._

Deciding to forget about the lone photographer, Bruce turned back towards where the pair he was following should have been, but stopped dead in his tracks when they were nowhere to be found. Instead he spotted a dozen more people staring at him, and two more men with cameras.

Releasing a sigh, he spun around as he pulled out his phone, heading for the nearest building. The butler promptly picked up on the second ring. _"Yes, sir?"_

"Alfred, I need you to pick me up from the university. Now."

"_So soon, sir? You aren't enjoying yourself?"_

Bruce finally entered the double doors of the nearest building, falling into a small rush of other students. He'd entered Hilo U's form of a cafeteria, and the noise level shot up. "I'm enjoying myself just fine. It's the press that have just arrived that aren't earning my favor." Luckily in here no one was paying attention to the four photographers that were hurrying towards the double doors Bruce had just slipped in through, which could easily be seen through the large windows. Bruce was, once more, just another face in the crowd. He headed for a corner in building.

"_Ah, I see. I'm on my way now, Master Wayne."_

"Thanks Alfred." Bruce slipped the phone back into his pocket just as he himself slid into a chair. The table he'd found was in the far corner of the building, and conveniently surrounded by several other groups of students, too preoccupied with their own conversations to notice him. Or so he had thought.

His icy blue eyes remained locked on the photographers as they finally squeezed into the building, their hunky cameras attached to their hands. They desperately glanced around, a couple even going as far to question the others. But none of them could spot their money ticket.

Bruce smiled.

But his smile quickly faded as other students began eyeing the photographers curiously, some of them even glancing around once they caught onto the idea. He sunk lower in his seat, instantly wishing he had some sort of book or even a newspaper to bury his face in. The paparazzi only bothered him like this when he did something new. Or when he was in Gotham.

It took them a month to leave him alone after he started Yale, then Princeton. And even then they still had one around on standby, just in case he did something newsworthy. He'd grown used to them just as everyone else around him had. He was just Bruce Wayne again.

Here in Hilo, he doubted they ever saw any celebrities here. And just thinking of himself as a celebrity made him cringe.

"Hey, mind if I sit here?" a young woman suddenly asked. She was standing next to his table, but from the four at the adjacent table staring at them, it was obvious where she had come from.

Bruce hesitated slightly, quite honestly not wanting anyone to join him, but as long as she was standing there, she was a beacon for the paparazzi. "Not at all," he managed.

She flashed a wide smile and nearly jumped into the seat across from him, her long brown curls bouncing over her shoulder. "Wow, thanks! I mean…"

He tuned her out for the slightest moment as he glanced around her, catching sight of his four stalkers. They had split up somewhat, all four of them heading through the building as their eyes scanned the students. But his attention instantly returned to her when she said his name.

"What?"

She flushed. "You are Bruce Wayne, right?"

He nodded carefully, now searching for a way to leave.

"I remember you from magazines when I lived in Gotham. What are you doing here?"

"Vacationing," he answered without a second thought. His attention carefully returned to the photographers, who were finally making their way down the hall and into the next building.

"Well, if you'd like, I can show you some places that tourists never get to see," she said sweetly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was paying very little attention to her.

Once the press vanished from view, Bruce returned his attention fully to her. "Maybe another time, I'm a little—"

"Of course!" she practically squealed, making him wince. "Any time, Bruce. Here, let me give you my number…" she trailed off as she dug through her purse that had been tucked under her arm for a piece of paper and pen.

Bruce tried to stand, but she quickly caught his arm and handed him the small, torn scrap of paper. In pink pen was her name, Tiffany Barton, and number. The 'I' in Tiffany was dotted with a heart.

"Call me anytime," she suggested as she released his arm.

He shed a forced smile as he absently kept the paper between his fingers, but managed to maneuver his way back out of the crowd of the cafeteria and into the open air through the doors he had come through. By then the small scrap of paper was a crumbled up ball on the ground as he scanned for some place to disappear into until Alfred called, announcing he had arrived. Buildings housing classrooms were off to his right and straight ahead, steady streams of students strolling in between. Off to his left, however, was a rec-center, emphasized by the fenced off tennis courts nearby it.

But as he glanced between the two directions, his thoughts suddenly darted to the pair he had spotted earlier. It would be nice if he could find them again.

He took a couple of steps towards his left, his direction towards the last building he remembered the pair heading towards. But he stopped suddenly when he caught sight of the paparazzi mongrels darting out of the other side of the building he had just come from. They were in the same direction he was heading.

He spun around and headed towards the rec-center.

He entered the nearest door to the building and found himself in a quiet lobby. A desk sat off to his right and was empty, but behind it was an open door where voices trailed from. In front of him was a wall of windows, revealing a large, Olympic-sized indoor pool where a couple of people were swimming laps. Couches and plants littered the lobby space, along with vending machines and several awards. And off to his left were the locker rooms and a stairwell with the sign: Viewing Area.

Taking another glance at the open doorway behind the desk, he ascended the stairs.

The strong smell of chlorine overwhelmed his senses once he opened the door at the top of the stairs and found himself atop a balcony composed of rows of concrete benches. He moved towards the balcony's ledge, where a plane of glass kept him from falling over, and sat on the first row. From there, he could see the entire pool.

It was set up for long course, the lane lines horizontal to him as they stretched across the long, 50 meter pool. There were only three people he could see swimming, each had their own lane.

Bruce leaned back, propping his elbows up on the next step behind him as his eyes went to the high ceiling.

The door to the balcony suddenly opened, gaining Bruce's attention. And of all people to come bounding down the stairs, the same guy of the duo Bruce seemed to keep running into landed on the third large step up on the balcony, and on the opposite side of Bruce. He tossed his backpack off to the side and relaxed in a position similar to Bruce's; elbows propping him up, back and neck up against the step behind him, legs stretched out and crossed on the step below him. Bruce watched him absently as the kid's eyes focused on something below them in the pool and a small, thoughtful smile appeared on his tan face. Bruce followed his gaze.

A tall, tanned, slender figure stood at the edge of the pool, adjusting the goggles over her eyes. Wearing a black, one piece suit and a black cap over her head, Bruce had an inkling who it was. Gracefully, she dove into the water, making over a fourth of the way down the lane before surfacing into a smooth freestyle.

"Hey!" the guy at the other end of the balcony suddenly shouted, echoing in the large space of the indoor pool. He had turned around and was facing another male descending the stairs, dressed but with wet hair and lighter skin. "What are you doing here?"

"Dude, I am always here. I saw you up here, and came to find out what you're doing here. There are no hot girls playing in the pool."

The familiar kid to Bruce laughed as he shook his head, raising his hand to gesture in the direction of the pool. "Ana's here 'cause her class was cancelled. I'm here because I've got nothing else to do."

"Ana," the other said, his eyes darting to the pool. "The chick you follow around all the time?"

Travis's face contorted in embarrassment as he brushed off the accusation. "I don't follow her around."

"Travis, I'll admit she's hot, but she's weird. I don't know how you put up with her, especially when there are how many hot babes' numbers in your phone book?"

"Hey, think what you want," Travis suddenly said as he stood, scooping up his backpack and deflecting the accusation with the desire to leave. "Meanwhile, I'm off to see one of those 'hot babes'."

His friend snickered, earning a hesitant grin from Travis as the two ascended the stairs again. Bruce's eyes followed after them for a moment before returning to the graceful figure in the pool below him. She was already on her third lap, stroke never faltering.

And then Bruce's phone rang, signaling Alfred's arrival.


	8. I:VII

**Wednesday, February 9, 2000; 4:25pm – Hilo Farmers Market; Hilo, Hawaii**

Ana peered over the large pile of green apples in search of five perfect, or nearly perfect, ones. Picking one of the larger, spotless ones located towards the back of the pile, she inspected it closely before dropping it in the oversized tote that hung from her left forearm. She repeated the process four more times until the annoying chirp of her phone in her jeans pocket interrupted her. A cell phone, though expensive and underused, quickly became one of the other terms her parents set for her continued stay in Hawaii. Travis, unfortunately, took advantage of it.

"What do you want, Travis?" she answered without hesitation as she moved onto the peaches.

_"You know, most people would consider that to be rude."_

"You're not most people," she replied, slightly annoyed that she was apparently predictable enough that Travis knew she was shopping at the largest fresh produce market in Hilo, her usual Wednesday afternoon chore. "What do you want?"

_"Can you pick up some of everything for us? We'll pay you back."_

She was practically the fire department's errand runner, so, as usual, she agreed. They always conveniently waited for her to run her errands, using the excuse that they needed to be ready for a call to keep them lounging around the station. She still had yet to figure out their true motive behind having her get their groceries more often than they themselves did.

Once the phone was securely back into her pocket, she moved onto the vegetable section before quickly finishing her shopping. Predicting that Travis would call, she had already gathered a tote full of fruit for them alongside her own and paid for both sets of fresh produce before snatching up the worn longboard and backpack that the cashier had been keeping an eye on for her.

"See you next week, Kapua," Ana added over her shoulder once she had managed to shove her tote full of produce into her backpack and sling it onto her back. The young woman smiled in response before moving on to the next customer in line. But Ana was already weaving through the parking lot on the longboard, the backpack filled with fruit, vegetables and two folded up totes shifting her center of balance.

Longboarding was both a lot and a little like surfing, and when the weather was nice, Ana preferred it over driving. There weren't very many hills near all the usually places she traveled, unfortunately, which were all conveniently within a ten block radius. Her apartment, the fire station, the university, the beach, the market, etc. The market itself was barely two blocks away from her apartment. Not only did it save her gas and the environment, but her balance on land had gotten better once Travis had made her the board she rode now.

Though the whole idea of better balance was thrown out the window when a tourist pulled through the wrong lane in the parking lot, sending her balance suddenly sideways so she could turn the board. But in avoiding an unpleasant experience with the front end of a rental Audi, she slammed straight into someone, her board shooting off through the parking lot to be lodged underneath a car while both Ana and the person she ran into hit the ground, hard. Her backpack kept her from hitting her head back against the pavement, but as for both her produce and Travis's… This week's paycheck was going towards groceries.

Her jaw clenched more out of annoyance than out of pain as she sat up, brushing off the stray bits of asphalt. She'd scraped all the skin off her right elbow and half of her forearm; it'd take forever for that to heal, especially with her lifestyle. But she didn't need to look at her elbow to know that. She knew how she landed. Instead, her bright eyes darted towards the person she had hit.

But in that brief moment she had taken to sit up and brush herself off, he was already on his feet, waiting to see if she was alright.

"Are you alr—"

"Are you oka—"

They both stopped and Ana grinned sheepishly while the man shed a handsome smile. He offered her his hand to help her up, and as she stood, she finally fully recognized him. She'd seen him at Reuben's a couple days before.

"Thank you," Ana managed first. "I'm sorry I plowed straight into you. Lost my balance."

"Blame the tourist," he replied with a nod towards the now parked Audi. Through the windshield, it was far too easy to see an elderly couple still looking over a map, completely unknowing of the fact they had almost ran someone over.

Ana shook her head slowly, a cynical smirk easily making its presence known.

"So, are you alright?" he said again, making Ana glance back towards him. His blue eyes hidden beneath his long, dark bangs were directed towards her bent arm that she kept close to her side.

Her own blue eyes quickly followed his and she shrugged as she brought up her arm to examine the damage. Sure enough, there was more red speckled with bits of black than the tan skin of her arm. "I've had worse. Besides, I think the groceries I landed on probably suffered worse damage."

His brows rose underneath those bangs. "I can replace those for you, if you'd like."

Now it was her turn to look surprised. "Oh, no, that's fine. I was kidding," she lied as she turned to find her missing board. It had lodged itself underneath an old Volkswagen bug a good fifteen feet away, the end of it just waiting to be run over by some passing car. But as she walked, she could hear his footsteps behind her. "Are _you_ alright? I didn't cause any internal bleeding or anything, did I?" she commented over her shoulder as she slowed to a stop in front of the stuck piece of wood.

"I'm fine," he replied simply, slowing as she slowed.

Suddenly she bent over and with a wince for her board, pulled the thing free. Her eyes quickly examined the wood, instantly spotting the black line conveniently between two of the grip pieces. Ah well, it was only a scratch, right?

Ana spotted the man frowning out of the corner of her eye, causing her to glance up at him. "What?"

He shrugged, seemingly caught off guard. "Nothing. Are you sure you don't want any free groceries? I really wouldn't mind, especially since it was my fault that you fell."

She stared at him incredulously. How was it his fault? "Did you rob a bank or something and are trying to make your guilty conscious feel better?"

He looked dumbfounded. "What?"

"Well, I've never had anyone want to buy me groceries."

"There's always first, though, right?"

Ana paused, her bright blue eyes scanning him over. He seemed just as harmless as he had in Reuben's. "I'll pass," she replied as she tucked her board under her arm.

"Alright, then I'll go get you some myself. Though I can't promise they'll be what you like," he said with a defiant expression clear in his icy eyes.

Ana blinked. "What?" But he'd already turned and was headed back towards the market. She jogged to catch up. "What are you doing?"

"You have to be the first person I've ever met who has said no to free food."

"So?" she replied stubbornly, taking longer strides to keep his pace. "There are plenty of charity cases out there. I'm not one of them."

"Uhuh," he muttered as he slowed to enter the market.

He headed towards the first thing he saw and scooped up a couple of oranges before handing them to her. She watched him blankly for a moment with two oranges in her hand before waking up and grabbing his arm before he picked up a grapefruit. "Alright, fine. Let's at least see what all I did smash first, okay?"

The man glanced to her with a smile.


	9. I:VIII

**Wednesday, February 9, 2000; 4:37pm – Hilo Farmers Market; Hilo, Hawaii**

He wasn't stalking her. At least not on purpose. It had been purely by accident that he had seen her in her class yesterday at the university and purely by accident that he had been hiding out in the pool viewing area when she was swimming. Now it was a complete accident that he was here at the same time as her. Bruce had accidentally made a comment earlier in the day about being hungry, much to his mistake. Alfred took it as the need to find his employer food, so here they were at the only fresh produce market off the highway in Hilo.

And coincidentally, she was here as well.

Only now he was facing the girl alone, which was probably for the best. Alfred would never let him live it down. The butler had remained in the car after finally receiving a phone call from Gotham about the delivery of the jet parts, leaving Bruce to fend for himself in the marketplace.

Bruce picked up a shiny green apple and offered it to the girl carefully. She plucked it from his hand and examined it before dropping it into the empty tote she had just slipped onto her uninjured arm. He began looking for another perfect apple while she glanced over the peaches.

"So do you have a name?" she suddenly asked.

"Bruce."

She offered her hand, abandoning her search for a peach. "Ana. Pleasure to meet you, Bruce."

He nodded as they shook hands before turning back to scour the fruit in front of them.

"So, how'd you manage with that burrito?"

Bruce glanced to her, surprised. She recognized him from that restaurant? Scratch that. She remembered that he had tried to eat that beast of a burrito? "As well as could be expected, I suppose."

"Not as easy as it looks, huh?" she replied, dropping a couple of peaches into the tote.

He shook his head as he handed her another apple.

They continued their browsing in silence for a few moments. Ana took a moment to glance into the backpack she kept slung over one shoulder before heading towards the bananas as Bruce followed.

"So where are you from, Bruce?" she asked, her bright eyes scanning over the yellow fruit.

"Gotham," he replied simply, taking a moment to glance around instead of examine fruit. It wasn't hard to evade the paparazzi, but he had quickly learned over the years that they always had a knack of finding him where he least expected it. And here he definitely least expected it.

But when his eyes returned to her, he was slightly surprised to find her eyes locked on him. "Really?"

"…Yes, why?"

She shrugged thoughtfully before turning back towards the bananas, but Bruce could tell that her attention wasn't all on fruit anymore. "Nothing."

"Are you from here?" he questioned curiously, his eyes still on her.

"Phoenix," she replied just as simply as he had.

"Really?"

She suddenly glanced up at him, but her perplexed expression changed as her bright blue eyes narrowed once she spotted his amused expression poorly hidden behind a composed face. "You're hilarious."

* * *

**Wednesday, February 9, 2000; 4:46pm – Hilo Farmers Market; Hilo, Hawaii**

Once Ana's tote was nearly full again, and Bruce's small bag had plenty of fruit as well, they both finally headed towards the cashier. As promised, Bruce promptly paid for both. But he could still tell that Ana was unsure about it. Ever the responsible and independent one. Rachel still didn't like it when Bruce did things for her.

As they headed for the exit, Ana quickly scooped up her waiting longboard that had been perched behind the friendly cashier and headed out as Bruce followed.

"Well, thanks again," she began hesitantly, obviously unsure of what exactly to say.

Bruce nodded, "Of course. Would you like a ride so I don't have to buy you any more groceries?"

Her eyes instantly narrowed, but her expression calmed just as quickly as she forced herself to be humble. Bruce knew how to do that all too well. "I think I'll be fine, thanks."

She dropped the skateboard onto the asphalt before making sure it didn't roll away by setting her foot on top of it. As he watched her, she adjusted the bags to a comfortable position before pushing off…only to stop a good twenty yards away. She frowned as she readjusted the bags in order to get a better look at her injured elbow. Bruce paused, watching her. She _had_ refused his offer. And she didn't seem like one who like to be bothered with chivalry.

She adjusted the bags again and pushed off, this time managing to make it out of the parking lot and head up the street. He continued to watch her go, hesitantly. He probably should try again. He didn't know how far away she lived, but the gentleman instilled in him by Alfred was inwardly reprimanding him anyway. Finally, he shrugged it off and headed for the rental. If he saw her again, which was doubtful, he could make it up then.

A/N: I know it's a really short and pointless chapter, but I suppose I just wanted to switch up the viewpoints really quick. And yes, they keep running into each other. That's the point. They're not going to fall head over heels for a complete stranger. It's not in either of their characters. So it's going to take a while.


	10. I:IX

**Thursday, February 10, 2000; 4:05pm – The University of Hawaii; Hilo, Hawaii**

Her fingers moved quickly along the strings, switching from the lowest to the highest and back again before hitting all the notes in between. The bow in her right hand moved fast and heavy at first, emphasizing the fortissimo she was forcing from the instrument between her legs. But then it slowed into long bow strokes, covering slower slurs as the movement slowed down, allowing her left hand to rock against the neck to produce the vibrato that the conductor urged from her section.

But for the past hour, all of those movements, movements Ana had learned since she was 11, movements that she could perform in her sleep were automatic. She was on autopilot. She was stressed.

The night before had left her with barely three hours of sleep, something that normally wouldn't bother her. But add that on to the fact that she had just taken two exams, a quiz, and had taken on a challenge for her chair and her mind just wanted to go onto autopilot. Sure, it was the end of the day and everything was done, but the stress of the day was still there. And she was drained.

That and she hadn't eaten since around 8pm the night before.

The movement they were currently playing ended and she tuned out the praise the conductor gave the orchestra, which was quickly followed by a reminder to practice, before he dismissed them. Ana, who was seated in the first chair closest to the conductor and on the outside left of the orchestra, was out the door with her cello first and headed quickly to the locker room to put away the couple thousand dollar instrument.

And then she was in her truck, speeding north towards Kolekole Beach Park. No food, no sleep; she just wanted to relax first. The park wasn't much for surfing; a better spot was another couple miles north. But she didn't want to completely surf, and even though the beach was shallow and the current was strong at Kolekole, it was some place she wouldn't be disturbed. Visitors didn't swim and it was rare for locals to surf there. Sure, it was mostly cloudy with only the occasional bit of sunlight, hinting at the oncoming rain that would hit before sunset, but that rocky beach and the relaxing waves sounded so _good_. Her weekly relaxing ritual would not be interrupted by a few clouds.

Ana parked the truck in the empty parking lot that was a few hundred feet away from the ocean. The weather, the fact that it was a weekday, and the time of day itself made the park virtually empty. She knew that it was during the weekends that this specific park became popular.

She quickly changed into her wetsuit within the confines of the truck before hopping out and grabbing the surfboard from the bed. She kept her eyes focused on her bare feet as she strode through the trees toward the rocky beach, being careful not to step on anything sharp or trip over anything like she usually did. And then she finally reached the cold, February ocean water and kept walking while ignoring the 'no swimming' signs, her eyes now focused on the water in front of her as she could no longer see her feet. She kept a good way away from the stream mouth; the currents were strongest there. But it was easy for her to paddle out to calmer waters. Years of swimming combined with just simply knowing how these waters acted kept her from getting swept away like most beginners and tourists did.

She was a good hundred feet out when she stopped paddling and hopped up into a sitting position on the sleek, deep blue longboard. The tiny waves rippled past her, causing her to bob up and down slightly, but other than that, there was no movement. There was hardly a breeze, which was good, because the water was colder than she anticipated from the past week of weather mainly consisting of cloudy days and occasional showers and was already making her shiver underneath her wet suit. It was the breath before the storm. Her blue eyes glanced across the horizon where the Pacific met the sky and there was nothing in sight, as usual.

Ana stretched out, content that there were no boats that would speed past as well, and leaned forward as she slid backwards on the board underneath her to keep it balanced. Once her elbows counterbalanced where she sat, she folded her arms and laid the side of her head on them to let the sun beat against her back before it disappeared behind the clouds again. The waves were small enough to allow her to keep her head in its current, comfortable position without making her swallow the salt water and it was nice to listen to the normal buzz of the ocean with one ear underwater.

_Ahhh_. The corners of her lips twitched into a small smile as her eyes slipped closed. The steady roll of the small waves, the sloshing of water around her. If she wasn't so alert all the time, she could easily doze off into a full REM sleep cycle, especially in her current state. But the slightest change always managed to sharpen her senses.

But she wouldn't stay out here long today. The combination of the weather and how good it did feel to close her eyes would make sure of that.

She soon felt the sun disappear behind the clouds. The wind picked up, too, causing her direction to shift. Without opening her eyes, she guessed she was heading south. Normally she ended up back where she started, right at the mouth of the Kolekole stream. But whenever it threatened to rain, or on especially windy days in the summer, the trade winds from the north directed her south. There had been times she had walked a couple miles back to her truck.

But it was always worth it.

After a few minutes, she finally opened her eyes when she felt seaweed brush up against her leg. She was still at least a hundred yards out, but she was well south from the park. She could see the Palms Cliff House perched on the small cliff overlooking the ocean just south of her. The setting sun combined with the clouds made everything darker than normal, especially darker than when she had first set out. She paused for a moment, watching the brand new hotel. Almost all of the lights were on, making it a beacon against the darkening sky. And the green grass just peeking above the cliff combined with the luscious green trees around the white inn made it stand out all the more.

Ana had once believed that there weren't that many sights left in the world that were pretty. Hawaii always proved her wrong. Even the Palms Cliff House was beautiful right now. It'd be a perfect picture to go on the back of a post card.

She sighed from her content position, her head still on her arms as she skillfully kept her balance on the longboard. She was lucky she managed to end up here in Hawaii.

"This probably isn't the best place for a nap."

She sat up quickly enough to tip the board and send her into the water with a splash as the piece of wood toppled upside down after her. She resurfaced in an instant, the deeper water not proving to be a problem at all, and whipped her head around to glare at the owner of the voice. But she nearly went into shock when she recognized the head treading above the water.

"Bruce!"

His smile was hidden as he sunk lower into the water.

Ana's eyes suddenly narrowed, though, as she flipped the longboard back over before putting one of her arms over it to keep it from drifting to shore. "It's not nice to sneak up on people," she replied quietly, frowning at the fact that she hadn't planned on getting all of her hair soaked. She was definitely not the prissy girl type—the type to spend hours in the bathroom getting ready and take a shower every chance she had, and she'd already taken one shower today; she didn't want to have to take another one.

"Depends. But I think my statement has more priority."

Ana rose her brow. "And how so?"

"You could drown."

Ana laughed. How ironic would it be that she, who loved water more than land and had been swimming since she could practically walk, drown. "I doubt it." She glanced over to Bruce once she had finished brushing the hair from her face with her hands. "It's called dozing," she continued as she slipped back into her sitting position on the board.

It was then that she took full notice that he was still treading water. Steadily. Alright, so the guy could swim.

"Dozing," he repeated, remaining unfazed by the small waves that continued to ripple by them.

"Yeah." She paused, glancing to the murky water around them. "It helps me relax," she admitted quietly. All her life she'd been defiant. She tried to do what the norm said she couldn't. And she'd always faced stress head on. She was at her best when she was always doing something, and at her worst when she had nothing to do. Therefore, finding a good way to relax was hard. This seemed to work, just lounging on her surfboard in the sun. It still kept her active while she 'relaxed'. And if she simply didn't want to lounge, there was a great spot to surf only a couple miles north.

But while her mind raced, he simply nodded, his head bobbing in the water.

She regained her senses and pulled her legs out of the water, into a cross-legged position. If she'd done this when she first moved to Hilo, it would've resulted with her underwater in a second, which is exactly what had happened the first, second, through fifth time she tried it. But now the board just wobbled slightly before becoming still in the water again. In the water was the only place she had balance and grace; on land, she easily tripped over her own two feet, very often when Travis was within close range to make fun of her.

"You have extraordinary balance," he suddenly said after a few moments.

She glanced over at him again to find his dark blue eyes on her. "And you have extraordinary endurance," she replied with a small smile. Using her hands, she turned her board to face a better angle as she continued, her eyes glancing from him to the board as a hint, "Would you like a break?"

He hesitated for a moment, looking like a child, unsure of what to do. But his arm lifted from the water to drape over the tail of the longboard. Anticipating the sudden weight, Ana leaned back and rested on her arms, making the surfboard wobble for a moment, before becoming relatively still again. "Although this break comes with a price. You get to kick us to shore."

He laughed. "Ah, the catch. You don't want to stay out here, enjoy the rain?"

"I wasn't planning on it, no."

He offered her an innocent look as he propped his chin on his hand.

"What are you doing out here?" she blurted out, bright eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"I might ask you the same thing."

"I come here all the time. Normally there's no one else around to bother me."

He shed a tight smile before his eyes darted to the cliff behind her. "That's where I'm staying."

She didn't need to glance over her shoulder. "The Palms Cliff House?"

He nodded slightly, barely disrupting the balance of the board.

"You're here on your honeymoon?" she asked in disbelief. She'd spotted no wedding band amongst his fingers and he seemed awfully young to be married and able to afford a honeymoon at the Palms Cliff House.

But he scoffed as he released his hold on her board to continued treading water effortlessly, causing her to lean forward again. "No."

And then it clicked. She was surprised it took her so long. He was the crazy driver who almost plowed her and Travis over a couple nights ago. He was Alfred's employer. "Wait…I know who you are."

He rose a brow, barely visible beneath his wet bangs that stuck to his forehead.

"You're Bruce Wayne." Ana remembered Alfred answering one of Travis's questions with that name. And though neither knew much about the man behind the name, they both knew the basics. He was rich. Super rich. Princely rich. _As rich as Bruce Wayne._

A dark expression passed over Bruce's face before he sunk lower in the water, attempting to hide it. But his dark blue eyes still told his emotions. He was suddenly agitated. And unsure. "I'm sorry to have bothered you," he muttered just above the surface of the water, and Ana quickly noticed he was putting distance between them as he headed towards the direction of the beaches only a few hundred yards south of them.

"No, wait," she said suddenly, forgetting her balance as the board wobbled dangerously when she put her legs back in the water. "I didn't mean to…" she trailed off, unsure of what exactly she meant to say. She didn't mean to what? Say his name? Recognize him? She didn't think any more or less of him because of his name. Was that what he thought?

He paused, eyeing her for a moment. "Do you want help to shore?"

"No, I don't need any help," she replied almost defensively, entirely forgetting her jest from earlier.

But he simply shrugged and began swimming towards the beach, nearly a hundred yards from where the Palms Cliff House sat on its small cliff, without another word. Surprised, Ana flattened out on the longboard and paddled along behind him.

Neither one spoke until they reached shore. Ana could have, but she didn't know what to say. Sure, she didn't think any more or less of the quiet and generous Bruce she had met yesterday after plowing him over. But there was something else there. Something different. And she wasn't sure that she liked it. Maybe she should just head back to her truck and go home. Leave him be.

"You almost ran over my friend and me a couple of days ago," she suddenly accused as she tucked the large board under her arm, the small waves splashing around her shins.

Bruce stopped where he was, a few yards ahead of her and clear of the ocean water, to face her. "What?"

Ana glanced up from her feet, glad that she didn't have to worry about the sandy beaches hurting her feet here. "Monday. You were driving a black Chrysler. Nearly ran over my friend and I."

His eyes narrowed in confusion.

"So technically we're even," she finished as she stopped only feet away from him.

He remained still, his eyes locked on her as his mind clearly searched for answers. But she looked over him again. And something really was different. He seemed taller, but his shoulders seemed hunched, the black wetsuit he wore defining that. His expression, though confused, was still darker than it had been yesterday—or even when he had first surprised her. And it was as if there was a barrier between them, something that just told her to stay away. And those eyes…

Finally his dark hues beneath those long bangs flashed with recognition. "Well, you're unharmed, right?" he grumbled defensively.

Ana nodded, and satisfied, he turned.

"Wait," Ana blurted, taking a step forward as her arm unconsciously reached out.

He paused again, this time only glancing over his shoulder at her. "What?" It was a demand.

She kept from flinching. She always had to be the people pleaser, the one who strived to make everyone else happy. And Bruce Wayne clearly had unhappiness written all over him. Part of her wanted to say 'screw it' and leave the billionaire alone. But most of her wanted to help. Unfortunately. It was why she was in the fire and paramedic business. "What's wrong?"

The question surprised him, she noticed. But he quickly recovered with another grumble. "Nothing." He took another step away from her.

Ana rose an eyebrow defiantly. "I seriously doubt that."

"Good for you," she heard him say.

Now her eyes narrowed. At first she didn't want anything to do with him. But he'd helped her yesterday, she had to admit. And even though he did almost run her and Travis over, that didn't count. She didn't know who he was then. So she owed him. After all, it kind of was her fault that he was suddenly in this mood. Though why he got in such a bad mood over his name, she had no idea.

She half jogged to catch up with him, earning a cold glare from him once she did. "You said you didn't want to be bothered."

She frowned. "No I didn't. I said I usually wasn't bothered. Don't twist my words."

He scoffed. "Same difference."

"Hardly," she replied, finding an even pace with his. He had a long and quick stride, but her long legs could match it.

"Then what do you want?" he demanded.

"To apologize for whatever I did to put you in this mood."

He finally cast a glance at her, but didn't slow in his stride. "Apology accepted."

"Alright," she finally stated with finality, rotating her surfboard across her body to slam into Bruce's abdomen. They both instantly stopped, Bruce with a darker—if that was even possible, expression on his handsome face. "I'm not going to stop bothering you until this mood of yours goes away."

"_Why_?"

The one word questions were starting to grade on her nerves. "Because… Because I can't stand it when people are in bad moods."

His glare softened slightly, which actually surprised her. He had looked like he was ready to just grab her surfboard from her and chuck it back into the ocean, but now he seemed to relax slightly. "Why?"

Even though he asked in a softer tone, it still made her agitated. "_Why not?"_

His lips twitched as he hid a smirk. "You really wouldn't have stopped, would you?"

Ana hesitated before shaking her head, slightly startled by his sudden mood change. She had her fair share of vicious mood swings too, but it was strange seeing it from someone else.

He gently set his hand on the blue surfboard she still kept in front of him. "I'm sorry," he began quietly, his eyes moving to where his hand was. "It's just that…people change when they know who I am."

She eyed him warily as she replied, "Well, to me, you'll always be that guy who I plowed into and bought me groceries." He chuckled silently, causing her to smile. Carefully, she pulled the surfboard away, regaining his attention again. "So you're alright now, right? You're not going to throw another fit?"

His smile grew to reveal a row of pearly teeth with prominent canines, and she was surprisingly awestruck at how handsome he really was, wet hair trying to hide his face and all. "No, I think I'm done now. Are you finished hitting me with your surfboard?"

She grinned. "Perhaps." Her eyes then darted to the more distant inn, barely visible from this angle through the trees. "So I take it you're done swimming."

Instead of following hers, his eyes instead turned towards the dark clouds over the ocean. "As much as evidence may point to the contrary, I don't have a death wish." She smiled as his eyes returned to her. "Would you like to accompany me back? I can give you a ride to wherever you'd like from there, and I don't have to worry about you drowning."

She laughed as she shook her head. "Drowning is the last thing on my mind, believe me. But I suppose I could."

She began walking in the direction of the distant hotel as Bruce hesitated behind her. But she made it all of ten feet before he caught up to her, a bemused expression on his handsome face. She cast a quick sideways smile in his direction before returning her focus to her feet to make sure she didn't trip over a stray rock or step on something that would hurt. He followed suit occasionally, but his gaze, as she noticed, moved from his own feet to her to where they were headed and back again.

"So what's Gotham like?" Ana finally asked once they reached a small trail that led through the trees to ascend the cliff.

Bruce, who had fallen behind her, remained quiet for a moment, causing Ana to glance over her shoulder at him. His expression had changed from amused to solemn, a dark shadow not caused by the dense trees cast over his features. "I've just never been to the east coast and I've heard a lot about Gotham," she muttered, her attention returning to the path in front of her.

"It's not like here," he finally said quietly, just barely audible above the wind rushing through the trees. "It's dirtier. And colder." He paused. "But it rains just about as much as here."

Ana warily cast another glance over her shoulder to find him smirking back at her. She laughed silently as her attention returned to her feet.

"What about Hilo? I've only been here for a couple of days, not nearly enough time to really get to know your city."

She shrugged, "There's not much to know. It's a paradise. Even with the rain."

He chuckled, "Well, I figured as much."

"You should go up to the mountain. The view from the top is incredible."

"Really."

"Really."

* * *

**Thursday, February 10, 2000; 5:04pm – The Palms Cliff House Inn; Honomu, Hawaii**

It took nearly twenty minutes to reach the large lawn stretched out around the Palms Cliff House. Most of their walk they remained silent, listening only to the close and rocky waves, and the strong wind causing the leaves on the trees around them to noisily rustle.

But once they reached the large lawn, the rain that had started while they were still making their way through the foliage pelted them harder without the protection of the trees. Ana didn't hurry at all, taking her time to cross the lawn as she enjoyed the rain. And she noticed Bruce follow her lead as he joined her at her side.

"I take it you like the rain," he commented as they neared the empty patio of the white inn.

"How could you tell?" she remarked with one of Travis's infamous lopsided smirks that she had accidently picked up from him.

He smiled again at the sight of it. "Most people that I know, girls especially, despise the rain."

"I like all types of weather. Sun, rain, snow, anything. So, I suppose I'm not like most people you know." She stopped suddenly, causing Bruce to reach the first steps of the patio ahead of her. He paused once he noticed her sudden stop and turned to watch her spin on the lawn, one arm out and the other arm gripping her large surfboard tightly, the messy, wet bun flapping and the stray hairs sticking to her face. "Besides," she continued once she completed two turns. "I'm already soaked, thanks to you."

"Thanks to me?" he replied innocently, his eyebrows rising beneath the dark bangs that clung to his forehead. "You're the one who lost your balance."

Her eyes narrowed playfully as she moved to ascend the steps as well. And after leaning the board against the white railing, they both plopped down into the matching white lawn chairs along the long and empty patio to watch the rain fall. It was an unspoken idea that seemed to occur to both of them, and Ana didn't mind. Normally she wasn't one to be outgoing enough to make—and keep, new friends. That was why without Travis, she'd be all alone on this island. But for some odd reason, he ignored her anti-friend tactics and now never left her alone.

She couldn't really complain.

Now with Bruce, she didn't know what she was doing. Even though she had actually met him less than a handful of times, she kind of liked him. He reminded her of herself in too many ways. He was quiet. Even now he didn't speak. His dark hues were focused on the falling rain only feet in front of them. And his earlier mood swing was something that poor Travis had to put up with from her more often than not. But there was something else there, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Whenever you'd like to go, just let me know," he suddenly said, waking her from her thoughtful trance.

She glanced fully at him, and he was still staring out over the restless ocean. "Trying to get rid of me?"

"Not at all."

She watched him for a moment longer before looking back out to the ocean as well. "So what's it like? Being who you are?" Out of the corner of her eye she watched him, knowing that she was in dangerous territory from his earlier reaction.

He simply frowned, that darker expression returning. But it seemed like he tried to keep it hidden, like he tried to focus on something else. "What do you think it's like?"

Ana glanced back to him to find that he was now fully staring at her. She shrugged slightly, looking back to the sea. "I don't know. It seems like you could do anything with your life. Have a fun and exciting one rather than be like the rest of America and pass your life by being a cubical monkey." A quiet rush of air next to her alerted her that he liked her joke. But she glanced back to him yet again, her bright blue eyes studying his profile. "But I can tell you don't like your life. And you obviously don't like being who you are."

His expression remained stoic, and this time he didn't answer her.

Instead someone else did.

"There you are Master—oh, why good evening, Miss Williams." Both Bruce and Ana turned to find the aging butler, Alfred, who Ana had accidentally met only a couple days before, standing on the edge of the porch while wearing a dark and heavy rain coat and holding a handful of papers in one hand and an umbrella in the other. Ana blinked, still slightly stunned that he even remembered who she was.

Alfred, however, appeared bemused as he continued, "Pardon my interruption. I suppose I shall find you later, Master Wayne." And just as quickly as he had come, the elder man disappeared back around the corner.

Bruce released a chuckle he seemed to be holding, causing Ana to laugh as well. "Is he always…"

"Impeccable? Yes."

"That wasn't…exactly what I was going to say, but that, too, I suppose," she replied casually as she stood. His eyes followed her up. "Well, Mr. Wayne," she mocked, causing them both to smile, "I suppose I shouldn't take up your time."

He shook his head as he stood, "You're not. Alfred just has bad timing with unimportant stuff."

"He might, but I do have to work tonight, so I should be getting back."

"Ah…" he began as she reached for her board. "Well, my offer still holds if you don't want to walk back to Hilo."

"And I'll be glad to take you up on that offer, but it'll be a shorter distance than that. My truck is less than a mile north of here."

Ana watched as he eyed the surfboard for a moment before showing her a direction to go with his hand. She followed the direction, which happened to be the same way that Alfred had disappeared, as he tagged along behind. Once they were around the corner, the small parking lot with less than a handful of cars was revealed and Ana already headed towards the sleek, black Chrysler.

"Question," she asked as he unlocked the doors. As his eyes raised to meet hers, she just lifted her board in response.

He shed a smug smile. "This car is magical. You'd be amazed at what money can buy."

And though she had seen cars do such feats as this on TV, it still made her laugh with awe when she watched Bruce fold down the seats and maneuver the board inside just right so that the tip was pushed against the back corner of the deep trunk and the tail just barely peeked through between the two front seats, separating them as much as the small console and air-conditioned—yes, air-conditioned—cup holders did.

But before she got in, she hesitated. Bruce glanced up at her once he was seated—soaking wet—in the driver's seat. "What?"

"I'm soaking wet. And that's leather."

He chuckled. "It doesn't matter. Get in."

She obeyed, hesitantly. Carefully she slid into the seat, trying her best to keep the area she got wet as limited as possible. Bruce just smiled as he started up the car.

And in no time at all they were smoothly cruising down the long driveway, towards the highway. Ana was amazed at how quiet the car was. She had only ever been in fire engines, her own truck, her mom's Jeep Cherokee, and on her dad's motorcycle for as long as she could remember. It felt like the car wasn't even moving.

Bruce must have noticed her awe because he suddenly chuckled when they reached the end of the drive.

"What?" she asked.

"You look like you've never been in a car before."

"Well, technically I haven't. At least not a car like this." She paused as her eyes found a strange button on the dash between them. Curiously, she reached forward and pushed it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bruce smirked. "Heated seats."

She blinked with surprise. "Heated seats? Why would a car need heated seats?"

Bruce laughed again as he shrugged. "Because… You know, honestly, I don't know."

By now they were already nearing the turn off to the park. "It'll be a right at the next road. Kolekole Beach Park."

He nodded, but they both remained quiet. She could barely hear the engine above the quiet pelting of the rain against the car. Even the windshield wipers were silent. Hers on her truck always screeched like a banshee, between the mechanics and the wipers themselves on the glass.

"Where do you work?" Bruce suddenly asked.

"The fire department, actually," Ana replied without missing a beat.

His brows rose, impressed. "Really."

She released a short laugh. "You like to use that word a lot."

He smiled. "You surprise me a lot." She shrugged awkwardly. After a moment, he continued, "I really wouldn't have pegged you as a fireman."

"Fire_woman_," she corrected. "And well…I like to help people. That, and I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie." She paused before adding, "And I have to do sometime different every day. I would hate being trapped in a normal lifestyle, doing the same thing day after day."

"Being a cubical monkey," Bruce added.

She nodded. "Exactly. I'd go crazy."

"Well, I don't know much about the public service industry, but I would think that would be the farthest away from a boring job as you could get."

"It is."

With her directions, they finally pulled up alongside her lonely truck. She quickly hoped out of the quietly idling car while Bruce followed a little more slowly. Together they managed to remove the surfboard without damaging the rental car.

"Well, thank you," Ana finally said now that she had her board safely under her arm and the car was back in its original form.

"You're welcome."

They both exchanged awkward smiles before Ana turned towards her truck. With ease she put the board in the truck bed and moved towards the driver's side. She noticed Bruce do the same. Once more they both paused awkwardly, smiling again. "Thanks again," Ana called. "And, uh, see you later, I guess."

He smiled through the rain as he nodded before he sunk into the driver's seat of the Chrysler.

* * *

**Thursday, February 10, 2000; 7:35pm – Fire Station #2; Hilo, Hawaii**

"Ana?"

Her glazed over bright blue hues remained fixed on the page of her microbiology book in front of her, the same page she had been staring at for the past fifteen minutes.

Travis waved his hand in front of her face as he repeated her name, "Ana."

Without looking up, she swatted his hand away.

"Alright, Ana, this is ridiculous. You haven't said more than two words since you got here, nor did you even want to play your favorite game. And you've been staring at that same page for the same amount of time." He snatched a chair and pulled it up next to her as he sat. "What's up?"

She finally snapped out of her haze. Ignoring him would do her no good. Glancing over at him as she leaned back with a shrug, she replied, "I'm just tired, Travis. It's been a long week."

He rose a brow, "A long week?" She nodded absently as her eyes returned to the book. He watched her carefully for a moment with narrowed eyes before speaking up again. "No… There's something else. I can tell."

She sighed before she stood, scooping up her book in the process. "I'm fine, Travis. Go play your video games. I'm going to go take a nap."

His expression suddenly turned to a frown as that was clearly not the reaction he wanted. "Aw, Ana, come on. Don't do that."

"Later, Travis."

She found the sleeping quarters empty, thankfully, since most of the guys snored anyway, and plopped down on the cot that she usually chose: the one underneath the only window in the room. But, nonetheless, it didn't matter where she was because she wasn't planning on sleeping anyway; she couldn't. Dropping her book on the floor next to the bed, she stretched out on her back and placed her hands comfortably underneath her head to stare up at the bottom of the mattress on top of her. But tonight instead of mentally tracing along the little lines that lined the dark fabric, her thoughts re-drifted back to the one thing, or person, they were focused on before. It was kind of amusing how earlier in the day she had been so stressed about tests and now she was stressed about something entirely different.

Though she desperately wished for a call so she could forget about it all for a while, a small smile crept over her face in the dark as she thought of a sly idea. A sly and completely out of character idea. He was a stranger to her, and she was always cautious of strangers. This idea was insane. But she actually didn't have to work tomorrow and one of her two classes was already cancelled, so what better way to spend the day?


	11. I:X

**Friday, February 11, 2000; 12:05pm – The Palms Cliff House Inn; Honomu, Hawaii**

"Master Wayne, you have a guest."

Confused, Bruce glanced up from the book he had been reading to examine Alfred's pleased expression. He was too pleased. He stood, setting down the book on the chair he had been sitting in before following Alfred into the other room. He had thought he'd heard a knock at the door, but he doubted the paparazzi trailing him would try for an interview—pictures were much better, anything could be taken from them—and it was a little too late for room service. So he really shouldn't have been surprised to see Ana standing just inside the door, rocking on her heels like an excited child.

"Ana—?"

"You wanted to see Mauna Kea, right? Well, I thought about it and the best view is from the top, which is where you can't get to with that fancy car of yours. So I'd be glad to offer you a ride in my 4-wheel-drive truck."

He chuckled lightly. "You came all the way up here to offer me a ride?"

She shrugged as she glanced around, slightly embarrassed. "Well, yeah. I really don't have anything to do today, and I figured you didn't either."

Bruce easily spotted Alfred out of the corner of his eye, a smug smile on his face. "I think it's an excellent idea, sir," Alfred said. "I'll save your novel for you for when you return."

Both Bruce and Ana glanced to the elder man, Bruce looking more incredulous than anything. "Alright, I suppose I don't have much of a choice." He reached for his jacket that was hung on the coat hanger conveniently next to where Alfred was patiently waiting. The butler offered another one of his cocky, smug smiles, to which Bruce just shook his head before turning back towards Ana. Somehow, some way, Alfred would get it for being so amused about this.

Before she, too, turned to leave, she looked him over. But she appeared satisfied and turned towards the door as Bruce followed, deciding to ignore the look.

Moments later, they reached the parking lot and Bruce spotted the old blue and white Ford, the same he had seen last night. He got into the passenger seat of the two-door, two-seater truck and was surprised to find that the inside was clean. Well, as clean as the old truck could be. A black blanket covered the single seat that spread across the cab, with holes where the seatbelts came through, and the steering wheel had a black leather cover. Everything else looked used and worn, but nothing else was in the cab that wasn't a part of the truck. The cab also smelled like fresh laundry washed with a flowery soap instead of old cigarette smoke or musty old seats. That, and he could smell the faint smell of her perfume through it. Nothing strong, not like he was used to, but subtle. It almost matched the smell of the cab.

"It smells nice in here," he commented, causing her to smile slightly.

"Thanks. I'm paranoid about bad smells. Nobody likes them, but nobody ever says anything about them either. So I try to keep everything smelling good."

Bruce nodded slightly, amazed at her outlook on something so simple. He'd surely never thought about smells.

She started up the truck, which began to rumble without any difficulties. And in no time at all they were on the highway, heading south towards Hilo.

"It'll be about a two hour drive from here, so do you need anything before we leave Hilo?" she suddenly asked.

"No, I think I'm good."

She cast a sideways glance at him with one of her slender eyebrows lifted. "You do realize that we'll be going up 1300 feet and into about 30 degree weather."

Now he glanced at her. "In Gotham right now, it's probably about 20 degrees. And I'm as healthy and fit as can be," he added with a smile.

She smiled as she looked back to the road. "Whatever you say, Sparky. But if you change your mind, let me know. I've got a duffle bag and a backpack filled with enough stuff to live up there comfortably for a week. Well, aside from the food part."

Human nature obligated him to glance over his shoulder out of curiosity and confirm the bags in the truck bed, bags he had failed to spot earlier. She stifled a giggle.

He glanced back to her with a curious expression, which she seemed to interpret as the need to explain herself. "Human curiosity. It gets the best of everyone."

"Except for you, I assume."

"Ha. No. I get curious, too. I just show it more discretely than most people."

"Oh, right," Bruce replied playfully, earning a full glance with an equally playfully hurt expression from her.

"Seriously. Next time, use the mirrors and it won't be so obvious." She paused, her attention back on the road. "Besides, I'm very curious about you, but you obviously don't know it."

Bruce's playfulness diminished slightly at that. He had reached a point where he didn't care what people thought of him. It just _annoyed_ him when _human curiosity _got the better of people when it concerned him. But with her, he realized with an inward start, he did care what she thought. He'd only seen the surface of her seemingly complex outlook of things. What did she think of him? How did he fit into her outlook? What was going on in that head of hers? "Well, how I about I help satisfy your curiosity. What's bothering you?"

She hesitated, biting her bottom lip as her hands shifted on the steering wheel. "Nothing's _bothering_ me…" The truck suddenly slowed as she pulled into a gas station. "Gas," she said as a way of explanation when she pulled alongside a pump and quickly got out, leaving Bruce hanging in the silence of the truck. He shed a small smile in reflection as he remained inside the cab. He would find out what he wanted to know in due time.

In the mean time, he took her advice and used the side mirror to watch her. She quickly fished her wallet out of her back pocket to insert a card into the pump. Then, as an old habit, she selected the correct nozzle and hooked it in the gas tank. And then she was leaning back against the side of the truck, her thumbs hooked in her front pockets and one ankle crossed over the other. She was thinking. He could easily see that far-away look, even from his side view of her and the breeze occasionally making her long, loose hair block his view.

They both lost track of the couple of minutes that passed. She jumped when the nozzle suddenly stopped, making him smile. Quickly, she returned the nozzle to the pump and rounded the truck to get in the driver's seat. By then, he was gazing at the distant, snow capped mountain.

"Last call," she announced once she was inside, her leg hanging out the partially open door.

He glanced at her with an amused expression.

"Alrighty then."

* * *

**Friday, February 11, 2000; 12:38pm – West State Highway 200/Saddle Road; Hilo Forest Reserve, Hawaii**

The first few miles were mostly silent. She had asked about the radio, but he said he didn't care. So it remained off and the only sound was the roar of the truck's engine and the wind rushing past them.

"Are you sure you're Bruce Wayne? Like _the_ Bruce Wayne?"

He looked at her slowly, making her laugh in embarrassment.

"I mean, you don't seem like someone who's worth billions."

"What is someone who's worth billions supposed to be like?"

She frowned in frustration as she glanced at him. "Well, for starters, they don't always turn my questions around on me."

He chuckled. "I figured it added more to the mystery."

"Adds to the annoyance," he heard her mutter under her breath.

More silence.

"So…" she began, but seemed to think better of it as she grew quiet again.

"I take it you don't like silence."

She shrugged, her eyes still never leaving the road. "I'm fine with silence. It's just that it'll be a long drive if we spend all of our time just staring at the boring scenery."

He paused, shrugged, and continued to gaze out the window. She released a quiet, resigned sigh, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel. And that was all they did for an hour and a half. Every now and then, she'd shift her weight as if uncomfortable or ask if it was too hot or cold in the cab. He even noticed her unconsciously tap her finger on the rim of the steering wheel to music in her head. But he allowed her to be uncomfortable while he thought of other things. Things that refused to leave him alone.

His memories of Yale weren't pleasant ones. He had told Alfred the truth when he said he wasn't going back, and why. It had started out just as his time at Gotham U had. Normal, aside from the trail of press that followed him around for a week. But as the paparazzi left, students found that their shot at being seen with the famous Bruce Wayne had diminished and they quickly left him alone. Now that he wasn't complaining about. But what had bothered him were the ones who hadn't left him in peace. If only Rachel had been there, to calm him down like she always did. Told him to brush them off like flies, or even learn to live with them. Maybe it would've made a difference.

Nah. That was doubtful. What had resulted was inevitable.

Every now and then his thoughts would switch topics, to worse and worse scenarios. He tried to stay away from thinking of Rachel at all. He hadn't seen her in years, and she'd be ashamed of what he was doing with his life—nothing. But in between, he'd glace to the woman next to him out of the corner of his eye. She was always focused on the road. Not a stern focus that held all of her attention. But her eyes were there, and she was unconsciously paying attention. He could tell that her thoughts were drifting far beyond whatever music playlist was going through her head. The way her jaw twitched every now and then, her hands adjusted position on the steering wheel, even the halt of her tapping fingers altogether.

And every time he watched her, he wanted to know what _she_ was thinking about. What was bothering _her_ so much. She lived in Hawaii, went surfing, and seemed like she didn't have a care in the world. Whatever she was thinking about now disproved that point.

And just like every other time he had glanced at her and wondered about the mysterious Ana, his dark hues returned to the road ahead of them as his thoughts drifted to other times.

* * *

**Friday, February 11, 2000; 1:42pm – Mauna Kea Access Road; Mauna Kea, Hawaii**

The last few miles were filled of twisting, winding roads up the side of the looming mountain. They passed a couple of raised mounds, as well as a couple of craters, hinting at the once mighty volcano they were driving up.

Now both of their attention was on the road. Well, Ana's was, but Bruce was still curious to their surroundings. Every now and then he'd glance at the review mirror and see miles upon miles of forest stretched out beyond the desert of the mountain they were climbing into.

Her death grip on the steering wheel, her slow turns, and her eyes constantly darting back and forth between her speed, her review mirror, and the road told Bruce that she must be uncomfortable with driving these windy roads.

About halfway up, or what he judged to be halfway, he dared to ask, "Would you like me to drive?"

She glanced fully at him, her driving never slowing. "What?"

He hesitated, "You seem like—"

"No, I'm fine," she replied bluntly. But as her bright, focused hues returned to the road, she spoke again a little less sharply. "I'm just used to driving up here alone, taking the corners at faster speeds."

Bruce blinked. That was why she had seemed so paranoid about her driving? "Pretend I'm not here, then. A few sharp turns won't kill me."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips and just dying to be unleashed. And without another word, her speed increased and she relaxed. No more glancing at the mirror, no more glancing at the speedometer. She was only concerned about the road in front of her.

And they flew up the mountain.

As Bruce gripped the door to keep himself steady, her duffle bag in the back slid all over the bed without restraint. She didn't seem to care at all. Bruce even went so far to wonder that if he spoke up now, changing his mind, if she would slow down.

He couldn't quite answer that question yet.

Once they reached their destination, which apparently was only about halfway up the mountain, the old truck seemed to heave a sigh of relief as it pulled into the level parking lot. The compound seemed mostly empty. No one strolled the sidewalks between the buildings that littered the desert scenery. The only hint that anyone else was up here were the buildings themselves and the cars in the parking lot alongside them.

They both emerged slowly from the truck, Ana immediately darting around the truck to grab her duffle bag in the back. She quickly removed a large jacket—or what Bruce thought looked like a jacket, and slipped it on before taking the time to stretch out her legs and back. Meanwhile, Bruce, instead, eyed the buildings of the compound, ignoring the bitter cold and the rough wind that threw his hair around while his jacket remained in the front seat of the truck. It didn't seem as tourist friendly as other tourist attraction sites. Some places didn't have any pavement. None of the buildings looked like they had signs. But apparently Ana knew what she was doing as she strode out in front of her truck with a glance to Bruce, her long hair whipping around her face as she refused to pull up her hood. "Are you coming?"

He gave her a curt nod before following her towards one of the blank buildings. But sure enough, once they were facing the front of the building, large letters announced what it was. Mauna Kea Visitor Information Station. She opened the door for him, but he hung back and held it open for her instead. She twisted her face in hesitation and muttered a "thanks" before striding through the door. Bruce smiled in response, but his smile quickly diminished as he got a good look at the room they had just entered.

The inside looked far more visitor friendly than the outside. Colorful photographs lined the walls, each equipped with its own description. Tables with pamphlets and activities were scattered about. A sign indicated a bookstore off to the right. And an empty desk was on the other side of the room, the chair behind it abandoned and a binder on top the desk left open. Bruce wandered further in, his eyes taking in the pictures of the breathtaking view from the summit as well as the images captured by telescopes. Mauna Kea was the tallest mountain in the world, from base to summit. Its summit was perfect for telescopic observation because of its equatorial location, the summit was above cloud level and water vapors, and the night sky was dark with no major cities nearby. Not one, but several telescopes were atop the summit, each one owned and operated by a different benefactor, be it Japan, the University of Hawaii, and everything in between.

It wasn't until he had nearly reached the empty desk that he paused to wonder where Ana was. He glanced around, failing to spot her anywhere in the room. She'd been here several times before, clearly. She probably had something she needed to do.

With an inward shrug, he glanced back to the desk and more specifically the open binder on top. It was a guest book. The currently open page had been filled about halfway, all of the names listing today's date next to them. Most of them had left comments, but some just had a name and hometown. None of the names were from Hawaii.

Not signing it, he turned away again and headed towards the bookstore, now in search of Ana. It would be his luck that she drove him all the way up here to abandon him. But as soon as he entered the next room, he quickly spotted her strolling through the aisles of books with a water bottle in hand, absently scanning the book titles as she unknowingly headed towards him. As if feeling his eyes on her, she glanced up, startled, before hurrying towards him at a quicker pace. "Hey, sorry. I just needed to get some water," she apologized as she slowed.

He looked her over with an amused expression before shaking his head and moving to look through the books much like she had been doing before. He felt her eyes follow him as he heard her exclaim incredulously behind him, "What?"

He refrained from audibly chuckling. "Nothing," he replied over his shoulder, pretending that his attention was on the books in front of him.

She muttered an "Uhuh" before following him down the aisle. They wandered through the astronomy books silently, but by the time they'd reached the end of the first aisle, even Bruce was bored. It wasn't like he didn't like astronomy, but it wasn't exactly thrilling to be looking through the titles of books he had no idea about.

He had a pretty decent outlook on the subject, actually. The books in his father's study contained several on the stars and the universe, and he had read every book in that room at least once. His father had books about the mythology involving the stars, the astronomical patterns, the dynamics of the planets, and things such as that. When he found the books in the study, he had gone on an astronomy kick for about a week, spending the nights out in the garden with Alfred, trying to match the barely visible stars in the sky to the patterns in the books. Gotham's bright lights in the distance always prevented him from seeing everything, so Alfred had promised that they would take a trip to some place where all the stars were visible. But the bonding reminded Bruce of earlier times with his father, so the trip was never scheduled.

"So is this all there is to this? Just some pretty pictures and a bookstore?" Bruce jested, startling Ana from whatever reverie she was in this time.

"Alright, smartass. We can go up to the summit," she said, turning to head back into the room they had just come from. "But you did sign the guestbook, right?" She paused to look at him.

He shrugged sheepishly.

"The guestbook is the most important part, Bruce! Here, come 'ere," she motioned as she approached the table.

Bruce obediently followed, taking the pen that was handed to him. In his elegant penmanship, he wrote the date, his name, and Gotham. Leaving the comment space blank, he set the pen down on the page, only for the book to be snatched up by Ana. "Ha! Now I've got your autograph," she laughed.

He even chuckled a little, amused. "You could've just asked. No need to drive me all the way up here for it."

She smiled, setting the book back down. "You know, I think you'll give the next person who reads this a heart attack. I wouldn't be surprised if someone actually did steal this page, auctioned it off on eBay."

They both locked eyes, laughing quietly.

* * *

**Friday, February 11, 2000; 6:37pm – Mauna Kea Access Road; Mauna Kea, Hawaii**

He wasn't the sentimental type, but even he had to appreciate the view.

From their lounging position in the back of Ana's truck, they could see the sunset perfectly, reflecting on the Pacific and Hilo far below. Scattered clouds dotted the skyline below them as lights flickered on the roads and in the town.

Ana sighed heavily, as if releasing the entire weight of the day. They'd spent the rest of the afternoon hiking around the visitor center and exploring what little they could of the observatories on the summit.

Bruce glanced over at her, but she simply smiled before continuing to watch the sunset.

She was a complete mystery to him. Rachel was too, but if it was possible, Ana was more of one.

"Well, I think those guys are on their way to kick us out," Ana said, drawing his attention to the couple of security guards who had just emerged from one of the observatories.

As soon as she said it, they both glanced in their direction. Quickly, both Bruce and Ana climbed out of the truck and hopped back into the cab, causing the guards to slow to a stop and watch with wary gazes.

"Well now what, Miss Adventurer?" once they were back on the steep dirt road that the old truck had clambered up only hours before.

She shrugged, failing to be amused by the nickname. "That was all I had in mind. Why, do you want to do something else?"

Bruce smiled to himself. Though he hadn't the faintest idea why, he wanted to spend more time with her.


	12. I:XI

**Friday, February 11, 2000; 8:53pm – Café Presto; Hilo, Hawaii**

Originally she had second thoughts about this. Firstly, all she had promised to do was take him to see Mauna Kea. Dinner was another story. But somehow, Bruce had managed to convince her that they should grab something to eat before turning in for the night.

And that brought her to her other doubt. The restaurant she had in mind, the restaurant she had just pulled into the parking lot for, was no place for a billionaire. It was like a four-star restaurant for her, and like McDonalds for him. The fanciest place in Hilo that she knew of only took reservations, required formal attire, and a dinner for two cost more than a tank of gas. But if there was anything that she learned today, Bruce Wayne and money were only associated by reputation. Bruce himself was nothing like the playboy billionaire the tabloids raved on about.

That thought alone was the only reason why she turned off her truck and now walked alongside said boy billionaire, fighting down her sudden anxiety with a smile.

What was wrong with her? By now, she knew he didn't care. It had to be her mother's habits instilled in her now making her nervous.

Her mom used to hate having company over. With their small house always a pigsty, she always feared that others looked down their noses at them because of it. Now, with a startling realization, Ana understood that she had that same anxiety instilled in her. Unconsciously, she would probably always think that anyone who had more money than her, such was Bruce Wayne, looked down their noses at her.

She tried to shake the feeling off, but her suddenly sour expression gave her away.

"Are you alright?" he suddenly asked, startling her.

She glanced up at him quickly with a nod. "Yeah, of course. Just tired is all."

He eyed her suspiciously while she pretended not to notice as they approached the door.

As the gentlemen she had quickly learned him to be, his long arm reached the door first to hold it open for her. Even though he'd been acting chivalrous all day, she still wasn't quite used to it and slunk through the doorway as her cheeks flushed.

The hostess greeted them with a friendly smile, even though it was barely five minutes before they closed, and led them to a small booth that lined the windows. There were only a few people left up at the small bar, and a couple of other couples scattered around the restaurant, all of whom were talking quietly with the sounds of classical music and the occasional clattering dishes. Without speaking, Ana absently buried herself in the menu while she assumed Bruce did the same. And as she looked over all the different entrées, she wasn't even sure if she _was_ hungry. Sometimes she had the appetite of an elephant, which made even some of the guys at the firehouse stare in awe as she won food eating bets with Travis. But other times she could go two or three days without eating anything more than just an apple.

Apparently today was one of those days.

Deciding on a shrimp appetizer that she figured she could stomach, she lowered the menu to find Bruce gazing out the window, that dark expression back. But she only caught it for a moment before his attention returned to her.

"What are you getting?" he suddenly asked.

She quirked a brow. "I think that's the first serious question you've asked all day." Now he rose his eyebrows beneath those long bangs. "You've always turned my questions on me." He still looked lost. "Never mind. Shrimp. What are you getting?"

He shrugged, "Shrimp sounds good."

She scoffed, "Bruce, you can't get the same thing as me. That's…cheating."

He laughed—actually laughed, a deep chuckle that made her smile, "Cheating? I'm just saying shrimp sounds good. So what if that's what I want?"

Sheesh. She was beginning to think he was worse than Travis. "Forget it." She went to fiddling with the folded menu in front of her, her fingers bending the already-bent edges while she studied the pictures on the front.

"We make a great couple," he added, causing Ana's gaze to dart upwards to him again. Did he just say 'couple'? "Neither of us like to talk much."

She eyed him as he remained in his relaxed position, slouched back with his arms crossed. But after a moment, her gaze returned to the menu as she shrugged with an accompanying small smile. "Sorry I'm not full of fun topics to talk about. But I can suspect why you'd be sick of talking, talking to reporters and those people that stalk you."

"Like you?"

Her eyes met his dark ones again. "Hey, I do not stalk you. I—"

"Relax," he chuckled. "I was kidding."

Yes, he was _really_ funny. Her eyes narrowed at him before they returned once more to the menu, just as their waitress approached. "Hi, my name's Mary and I'll be taking care of you folks tonight. Can I start you two off with some drinks?"

Both Ana and Bruce looked at each other, almost daring the other to go first. Giving in as the waitress chose to lock eyes with Ana, she spoke up, "I'll just have a water, please."

"And for you, sir?"

"A water, too."

Ana shook her head, which Bruce noticed, but the waitress did not. "Alright, two waters it is." And she was already on her way, glancing over her shoulder hesitantly towards Bruce.

Poor Bruce. Already instantly recognized by the waitress. Either that, or she just thought he was too handsome to resist looking at. Ana snickered at the thought.

"Now what?" Bruce asked in response to her snicker.

"According to the tabloids, you go to Yale. How's the Ivy League treating you?" Ana suddenly replied with, surprising herself.

A forced smile made its way into Bruce's expression, causing more questions to pop into Ana's mind. Maybe she could actually ask them all now. Get the interview of a lifetime, even though she wasn't much of a reporter. And even if she was a reporter, the questions she was thinking about that forced smile and those dark looks that she now associated most with Bruce were not ones she would publish. "Fine. Just how an Ivy League is supposed to," he finally managed.

Ana looked at him, disbelieving, "Really. Hilo isn't much of a university. The Ivy Leagues are like the stereotype. Like, for instance, surely you're in a fraternity."

Bruce's smile fell and he shook his head. "No fraternities. I thought the tabloids would tell you that."

"Well, to be honest, I have no clue where I got Yale from. I really don't read the tabloids. If you remember, it took me how many times meeting you to figure out that you're the Prince of Gotham? And if I hadn't met your butler the other day, I probably still would only know you as Bruce."

Her backtracking seemed to improve his mood a little. He looked ready to smile again. "Well then, since you seem to be clueless while the rest of the world knows my whole life story, I should probably fill you in. Just so you don't feel left out," he added with a smirk.

Ana grinned, "Hey, if you don't want to tell me, you don't have to, smartass. I did find out how touchy you are about your name."

"Yes, but that was before I learned you be different from most people," he said quietly, before continuing on more lightheartedly, "You don't care if I have billions or live in a box, you still keep bothering me."

"Oh, bothering you now? Fine. You were free to be parted from me; it was you who insisted on dinner."

He smiled, his dark blue eyes hiding something now as they moved from Ana to the approaching waitress. She gently set down the two water glasses on the coasters before whipping out her pen and notepad. "There you folks go. Now, do you two want any appetizers to start with or do we already know what we want?"

Once more, Bruce and Ana exchanged unsure glances, but this time Bruce spoke up before too long of an awkward silence could pass. "I think we're ready."

"Alright, then. What would you like?"

"I'll have the fillet," Bruce continued, since it was obvious the waitress's full attention was now on him.

"And how would you like that cooked?"

"Medium rare, please."

"And what kind of sides?"

"I think I'll go with the baked potato and mixed vegetables."

"Perfect." The waitress finished scribbling her shorthand and turned to Ana, "And what would you like?"

"I'll just have the shrimp appetizer, please."

"Sure thing. And I'll get those right out to you both." She paused, getting ready to step away from the table, but decided against it and turned back towards Bruce. "Excuse me, but you look exactly like Bruce Wayne, the billionaire. I'm sure you get that a lot."

Ana, who was already taking a drink of water, nearly choked while Bruce replied as smooth as ever, "Yes, I do. But he's a bit older than me and his voice is a bit deeper."

"Hm," the waitress muttered as she pondered the idea for a moment before finally turning away and heading towards the kitchen, where a couple other waitresses hovered.

Once she was out of earshot, Ana couldn't contain her laughter any longer. She managed to swallow before coughing and laughing at the same time. Bruce watched her humorously. "I'm betting you do that a lot."

"Every chance I get," Bruce replied with that devilishly handsome smile of his.

**Friday, February 11, 2000; 9:24pm – Café Presto; Hilo, Hawaii**

"I attended Gotham University for about a year and a half, which isn't an Ivy League school, mind you," Bruce was saying in between astonishingly gentleman-like bites.

They had strayed from the topic of Bruce's recent history to cover Ana's, much to her displeasure. But she suspected it was because Bruce was waiting for their waitress to drop off their food and leave them in piece for a little while, while he could explain himself.

Ana nodded, absently finishing off the shrimp in her fork before pushing the tail off the utensil.

"Now I've been at Yale for another year."

"Why'd you leave Gotham University? Your house—er, mansion is in Gotham, right?" Ana interrupted, but Bruce didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

"I figured it was best if I got out of the city. My friend, Rachel Dawes, had already gone on to Harvard, so I had little keeping me there."

"What about Alfred?"

Bruce smiled slightly. "Sometimes I think Alfred likes it better when I'm gone."

Ana shook her head, her fork stabbing another shrimp. "I doubt that. He seems less like someone who works for you and more like your friend." Bruce's smile fell again, causing Ana to move on, "What are you majoring in?"

Bruce shrugged, taking another bite of his own. "Medicine, business, engineering," he started once he'd finished eating. "Right now I'm back to being undecided."

"Wow. You should combine all three. Create a new major, just for you."

He chuckled.

"So why didn't you like any of those areas?"

"Well, medicine was my father's specialty. It was the first thing I tried, but…" he fell silent for a moment, causing Ana to worry. Though she hadn't mentioned it to him, she knew the other part of the Bruce Wayne legend. He wasn't just a playboy billionaire, but an orphaned one. She knew him well enough by now that that was definitely a topic to be avoided.

Ana was munching absently on the next piece of shrimp when he continued, "Business is what started my family fortune. Not only would it '_properly'_ prepare me for managing Wayne Enterprises, but it's an easy major. But the engineering classes I took I actually had an active interest in—"

The waitress suddenly approached, that wary smile still in place. "How's everything over here?"

"Great," Ana said for the both of them, while Bruce clearly wasn't in the mood any more to put on a show. "Thanks."

Mary nodded, hesitating again before disappearing back towards the kitchen.

"So what brings you here, Bruce?" Ana began for him once Mary was gone again. "Alfred gave us the technical details, that your jet engine, like, swallowed a bird." That brought his spirits back; she was getting good at this. "But what were you doing in Australia?"

"The honest and simple truth? Alfred kidnapped me."

Ana laughed. "Well I can see why. He missed you and you never visited him."

"I'd better not let you talk to him anymore. You might give him more ideas that I might not like."

She smiled, but it faded into a more sentimental one as her fork stabbed at the decorative lettuce on her plate. "One more question for you, Bruce. How has your make-shift vacation in Hawaii been so far?"

Bruce smiled as well, hesitating as he seemed to be debating about what answer to give her. "Honestly, it's been the best vacation I've had yet." Ana beamed, but Bruce continued with that air of playfulness he was so skilled at when it came to his sarcasm. "I'm not being hounded by paparazzi and I'm not in the hospital, but this stalker just might ruin it all for me."

She rolled her eyes as she scoffed. "If you call me a stalker one more time, I'll actually start acting like one."

He laughed, "I don't think you could be one if you tried."

"Oh yeah? Well look at all the stuff I know about you now. I'd probably be the best—and worst—stalker you've ever had."

_**A/N:**__ First off, I want to thank all of you who have made it this far, added this to your favorites/alerts, and even reviewed it. Thank you. But as much as I appreciate your reviews, they've all been too positive, motivating me to keep going. If you all could find it in your hearts to leave me some reviews with some criticism, it would be greatly appreciated, and I might just return the favor when I get a chance. Like, these past couple of chapters leave me feeling like I keep repeating myself. Using the same words and phrases._

_Once more, thank you all for reading!_


	13. I:XII

**Friday, February 11, 2000; 10:11pm – The Palms Cliff House Inn; Honomu, Hawaii**

Ana's old truck lumbered to a stop in front of the inn. She turned the keys in the ignition to 'off' and leaned back in her seat. Bruce glanced over to her curious as to why she shut off the engine, but he had a pretty good guess that it was because the old truck had worked so hard today. It did hum a different tune and have a little more rattle to it now that it did that afternoon.

"Thank you, Ana, for taking me up there," Bruce muttered, uncomfortable. It was the first time he'd thanked her since he met her—hell, it was the first time he thanked anyone in a long time. And he meant genuinely thanked. Those little 'thank yous' in passing, or even the ones he shelled out to the important figures of Gotham, never counted

"No problem. Didn't want you to leave with the impression that Hilo's just a rainy, boring little town."

Bruce smiled, a chuckle in his throat.

Had things been different, he might've leaned over and kissed her then. She was giving him the opportunity. Had _he_ been different, not so calculating, so careful, he might've gone through with it. Or maybe if it was a more familiar face with dark chocolate eyes and matching hair that cascaded around her face.

But Rachel's face refused to take over Ana's appearance, as if Ana was more than what Rachel could be.

His dark eyes darted from her bright eyes to her full lips. The opportunity was there, and if things were different…

He finally opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. The clouds were mostly gone, reminding Bruce that this was a place that he could actually see the stars. The cluster of small dots that made up the Milky Way were clearly visible across the sky, and each of the familiar constellations seemed to jump out at Bruce.

"I bet you don't get to see that many stars in Gotham. Or anywhere on the east coast, for that matter," Ana added from inside the truck.

He shook his head. She had that part dead on.

After a moment, she sighed, shifting her weight. "Well, if our paths never cross again, it was good to meet you, Bruce."

Bruce glanced down through the rolled down window to her before leaning forward and propping his arms on the door. "With our track history, I'm sure it's bound to happen again."

She nodded absently.

But yet, if Ana hadn't been daring enough to come get him today, would they have seen each other again?

"Good night, Bruce," she said, waking him from his thoughts.

"Good night," he nodded, allowing her to start up the old engine and lumber off down the driveway. He watched the old truck go, thinking, and didn't turn to head up to his room until the roar of that engine was long gone. She was special. And she affected something in him. But the last thing he wanted to do was drag her into his wreck of a life. He didn't want to do it to Rachel, and he especially didn't want to do it to Ana. She was perfectly happy without a broody Bruce Wayne in her life.

Alfred, however, seemed to think otherwise.

The old butler was waiting for him on the sofa, a book in hand, and this time he was wide-awake when Bruce came through the door. "Good to see you back, Master Wayne. I trust you had a pleasant day?"

Bruce struggled to get that indifferent expression back in place, but it was too late. Alfred had already seen the evidence that his employer could be happy without the assistance of Rachel.

Giving up, Bruce carefully shut the door behind him as he answered, "Actually, I did, Alfred."

When he looked back, Alfred was beaming, his bright blue eyes behind his spectacles twinkling. "And pray tell, what exactly did Miss Williams do to you to get you into such a pleasant mood?"

Bruce shook his head, his good mood quickly evaporating as he thought about what he had to do, "She made me realize that it's time to leave."

This startled Alfred, causing him to sit up fully, "Leave, sir?"

"Alfred, you've met the girl. I'm no good for her."

Alfred scoffed. "Master Wayne, you set your standards too low. First with Miss Dawes and now with Miss Williams. You are just as good of a person as both of those inspiring women—"

"Is the jet fixed yet?" Bruce interrupted, heading for the other room.

The butler sighed, "Actually, I just received the phone call today that it has been fully repaired."

"Then we're leaving tomorrow."

Frowning, Alfred watched Bruce disappear into the other room. It was damn near impossible to get the young billionaire into a good mood and like hell if Alfred was going to let Bruce push something so good for him away. Removing his spectacles and closing his book, he prepared himself for a lot of work in the next couple of hours.


	14. I:XIII

**Saturday, February 12, 2000; 10:05am – ****Riverside Apartments; Hilo, Hawaii**

The obnoxious banging coming from the other room was interrupting her dream. It was usually a similar dream, with subtle differences when she fell asleep in a good mood. This time she was in the middle of walking along a sunset lit beach, next to tall, dark, and handsome—"Ana! Wake up!"

Groaning, Ana finally rolled out of bed, dragging the blanket along with her. This whole waking her up business was starting to get really old.

She'd been dozing for the past hour, but her dream was just too good to interrupt. Draping the soft blue material over her shoulders, she moved into the other room to peer through the peephole, even though she easily recognized the voice. Sure enough, there stood Travis, too awake for ten o'clock in the morning.

The banging stopped when she turned the deadbolt, but as soon as she opened the door, he pushed past it and into the room.

"Just scare the shit outta me, why don't ya?" he demanded as he spun around to face her, once within the confines of her apartment.

Confused, and still mostly asleep, Ana slowly shut the door. "What-?"

"Yesterday you were entirely MIA."

"Travis, I didn't have to work yester—"

"That doesn't matter. You weren't at your classes, you weren't here, you weren't answering your cell phone."

Ana leveled an even gaze at Travis. "If I wanted to have someone to fuss over me, I would've stayed in Phoenix. Now, if that's all you came over to lecture me about, I suggest you leave and let me go back to sleep." Although going back to sleep was pointless now. The signs of a day-long headache from too much sleep were already showing, and her dream was long gone anyway. In fact, she could barely remember the details anymore. Oh well. At least she now had more than enough time to get some of the homework she'd been procrastinating done, as well as take a look at her truck.

After a long moment of matching her gaze, Travis finally sighed as his eyes were cast downward. "Sorry, Ana. I don't mean to act like a nagging parent, but it's just… I know that you're alone out here, without me, I mean. And I know you, I know what you do. And when things don't add up like yesterday, I just fear for the worst. And I feel like it's up to me to catch those little oddities, 'cause I'm the only one…"

"Oh, Travis," she said as she wrapped her arm around his hunched shoulders. "For the millionth time, you don't have to worry about me. It's Hilo. Nothing happens here. Now, if I disappear without telling you for like a week, then you might want to start panicking."

She offered a small smile to lighten the mood, and when he saw it out of the corner of his eye, he shed one small one of his own.

"Now, since you're here, did you bring me breakfast?" Ana suddenly asked, releasing her hold on him and readjusting her blanket to surround her like a cloak.

"Breakfast? You're the one who always supplies the food," he answered, back to his normal self as he moved past her and into the kitchen.

Ana smiled, shaking her head as she followed him to make sure he didn't do too much damage to her fridge.

"So where were you yesterday, anyway? Unless it's some dark secret that you're not allowed to tell anyone," he asked over his shoulder as his eyes prowled the open refrigerator, his arm propped on the open door.

"Mauna Kea," she replied simply as she sat in one of the two chairs around the table in the small kitchen.

Travis suddenly darted up, looking offended. "And you went without me?"

"Sorry, Trav. It was little spur of the moment."

"Oh, fine. I see how it is," he muttered, returning to his hunting.

Another knocking at the door startled them both.

"Travis, how did you get here again?" Ana asked in the silence that followed as she slowly stood. Only Travis knew where she lived. And only Travis ever visited.

He shut the appliance door just as slowly. "Michael dropped me off. But I told him I had a ride home once I saw your truck."

Ignoring the fact that he assumed she'd give him a ride, she padded closer to the door. "And you didn't piss off one of my neighbors on your way up or anything, right?"

He snickered, shaking his head as he leaned back against the large appliance.

But while he curiously watched from the kitchen, Ana headed for the door to look through the peephole again. And once she saw who was on the other side of the door, she instantly forgot about her lingering thoughts of a guy like _Michael_ knowing where she lived.

"Alfred! What are you doing here?" Ana questioned as soon as the door was opened, the name she had used instantly sparking Travis's attention.

"And good morning to you too, Miss Williams," he chuckled. "May I come in?"

Embarrassed, Ana fully opened the door, "Of course!"

"Hey Alfred!" Travis bombarded the old butler with the minute he stepped over the threshold, he having moved from his position in the kitchen. "Do we get to hear any cool stories today?"

The elder man chuckled again, clapping Travis on the shoulder. "Unfortunately, Mr. Meyer, my business is with Miss Williams."

Confused, Travis glanced to Ana, and she quickly gave him her 'not now' face.

"Miss Williams," Alfred addressed, resorting to ignoring Travis entirely, "Master Wayne can be a bit… obstinate at times. So on his behalf, I invite you to spend a day in Honolulu. If you can, of course."

Both Travis's and Ana's expression reflected shock. "Why?" Ana blurted out while Travis mouthed Bruce's full name—putting two and two together.

"Because as I recall, you have never experienced Honolulu."

Ana floundered, "I—I… You know what? Sure, Alfred. Why not?"

Alfred smiled and opened his mouth to elaborate, only to be interrupted.

"Ana!" Travis suddenly exclaimed, waking from his shock. "What? You know Bruce Wayne?"

She shrugged and answered, "Kinda," much to Alfred's amusement.

"Kinda? It's one thing to know his butler on a first name basis, but the guy himself?"

Ana silenced Travis with a glare before turning back to Alfred, "Alfred, I'd love to. I've got nothing else to do today."

Alfred smiled. Travis glared back.

"Well, I just have to drive Travis home first—"

"If you don't mind me offering, Miss Williams, I'd be glad to give the both of you rides to your destinations. I could offer a story or two for Mr. Meyer's enjoyment along the way."

This quieted Travis for the first time since he had burst into Ana's apartment.

"Is that fair, Mr. Meyer?" Alfred boldly asked around Ana.

"Ha," was his simple reply.

"Alfred, give me a minute," Ana said with a smile, excitement finally setting in. She turned to head back into her bedroom to change, only for Travis to follow after her.

Once the door was closed, the flood was unleashed.

"Bruce Wayne? _The _Bruce Wayne? Is _he_ why I haven't seen you in days?"

Ana rolled her eyes as she dug through her closet.

"_Really_ Ana?"

"Really what, Travis?" she finally snapped back, spinning around to face him with a pair of jeans in her hands. "First you wake me up sounding like my mom, and now you're acting like a complete jerk towards Alfred? What is your deal?"

"Why him? Of all the guys in the world, why _him_?"

"Why him, _what?_" She was getting really sick of this very quickly.

"Any other guy I'd be okay with. Hell, even Zac would be better than _him_."

"Zac? What the hell does _Zac_ have to do with what we're talking about?" They never talked about Zac. Hell, they never even talked _to_ Zac. He was one of the dozens of athletes in the school who was there on a full ride scholarship, aced his classes, and conveniently was in a ridiculous major, the same ridiculous major as Ana: Biomed. And on top of that, the majority of the girls at the university spent most of their time trying to impress him, Ana _not_ included. So to Ana, bringing him up was completely out of the blue.

"Zac? Zac's just one of the _dozens_ of guys in Hilo who have been trying to find ways, to put it plainly, to get in your pants," Travis exclaimed, but he kept going even though Ana made a disgusted face. "I know this because they come to me for answers since I'm the only one brave enough to get near you. Any of them, even though they're all complete airheads next to you, would've been better than _Bruce._"

"Bruce and I are _friends_. And I don't know what you have against him, you haven't even met—"

"Bruce Wayne?"

"Stop saying his name like it's a disease—" Ana got out.

"Aside from us both almost being roadkill because he's 'moody', I'm not alone in having something against him! He's a playboy who's only concerned about his fancy cars or his next hot date. He's here on vacation and he's just using you, Ana! Using you because you're the prettiest girl in Hilo."

Travis, who had been so worked up that he had fully turned to face Ana, now sunk back onto the bed. Ana, instead, was silent, her blue eyes focused first on Travis before shifting down towards the jeans in her hands.

She'd never seen him like this. And it shocked her. He was like a brother to her, even though she knew very well that he wanted more. Their friendship had started on that premise. Travis had first approached her, doing everything to get her attention. The lame lines, showing off how cool he was, dressing his best whenever he knew he was going to see her. And she had constantly refused his tries, not entirely ready nor willing to get into dating someone. So he settled for less: he became her best friend.

But he had been the only one.

"He's not like that," she finally muttered into the tense space. He really wasn't. She'd seen behind his mask. She'd seen that he was more like her than like this _playboy_ his reputation made him out to be. Even though he was just as _moody_ as his reputation made him out to be.

"Then he's already got you," Travis muttered back, sounding defeated.

"Travis, you know me—"

"Yes, I know you. And I know that deep down, beneath your ridiculously strong defenses, you're more sensitive than any other girl I've met—even the ones that bawl while watching cheesy movies. Clearly he's already gotten past them, and I just know that he's going to hurt you. And it'll hurt more than anything else has."

She bit her lip, silencing herself. He'd taken the words right out of her mouth. Well, sort of. She knew she had her own defenses against people. Trust issues that shouldn't exist from the loving childhood that she came from. And that was her point; she _never_ let anyone all the way in. Not even Travis.

She sighed, returning to her closet, "He's not who you think he is, Travis. Give him a chance."

But she just heard the door shut and Travis's voice on the other side was suddenly light and amused as he talked to Alfred.

* * *

**Saturday, February 12, 2000; 10:34am – ****Hanger 4, Northwest Apron, Hilo International Airport; Hilo, Hawaii**

Travis's words still bothered her, especially since he hadn't said anything to her while Alfred chauffeured him home. He had instead acted like Alfred was the only other person in the car.

And then Ana hadn't been able to get any other information out of Alfred about the impromptu trip.

Needless to say, their small trip around Hilo was frustrating.

Alfred let her out of the backseat of the familiar Chrysler once he had stopped next to a small private jet. And the only reason she hadn't gotten out herself was due to recognition and shock. It wasn't hard to make out the red 'W' on the tail of the white plane. Apparently the Wayne Enterprises jet had been repaired.

But then why was she about to be on it? Why weren't Bruce and Alfred halfway back to Gotham by now?

Emerging from the vehicle, she followed Alfred towards the prepared jet and ultimately up the narrow, retractable stairs. They both paused at the top, just inside the cabin, and Alfred shifted to allow her room to pass. At first glance she was confused as to where to sit, the entire aisle of seats along the side were empty. She glanced to the elder man again, and he simple offered his hand in the direction of the rest of the cabin. Hesitating, she stepped further in. But as her view of the interior of the plane was completed, it was then that she saw him.

He was reclined in his seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him. A copy of the Gotham Times kept him oblivious to her staring, and it allowed her to approach, step over his legs, and sit in front of him.

As soon as he saw the flash of her blonde hair, he lowered the newspaper, clearly surprised.

"Wha-? Alfred?" He glanced to the butler in hopes for an explanation.

Ana raised her eyebrows from her seat. So it appeared Bruce was in one of his moods. Alfred merely smiled before disappearing into the cockpit.

Finally Bruce's blue hues rested on Ana as he folded up the newspaper. "And what has he told you?"

Ana shrugged as the plane began to taxi out. He narrowed his eyes underneath those unruly bangs. "You're not the type to simply jump on a plane without details, Ana."

"And you know me now, Bruce?"

His lips formed an irritated line as Alfred emerged from the cockpit, moving to sit in one of the seats on the other side of the aisle from the two younger passengers. Meanwhile their eyes were locked on him.

"You two can't handle a single surprise, can you?" he asked, otherwise ignoring their glances as he unfolded a newspaper in front of him.

"Alfred," Bruce tried in a low voice.

"Master Wayne, you have lovely company sitting just across from you for the next half hour. I recommend you enjoy it."

While Bruce glared at Alfred, Ana blushed, glancing to the oval window in attempts to hide it. Finally paper ruffled as Bruce returned to his reading, making sure the paper was securely between him and her.

It wasn't until they had taken off and were at least ten minutes into the flight that someone said something. "How did you sleep?" Bruce muttered from behind the newspaper.

Startled, Ana looked at the front page of the Times, which conveniently had a picture of the newly appointed police commissioner to stare back.

"Alright. You?" she questioned back, swearing by the smirk on Alfred's face.

He simply grunted, changing the page. Ana's attention returned to the window. And Alfred just shook his head with a smile.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter's probably very sporadic. I've spent from the time that the last chapter went up until now working on it, unsure what to do with it. I felt like Travis, who clearly likes Ana more than just a friend, would be jealous—obviously. But Ana, who's so concerned with her own life and her sweet simplicity of it—with school, work, and her outdoorsy, recreational activities; would be completely oblivious to the real world around her, such as all of these guys finding her attractive. And I just wanted to establish that. Finally. As well as get Bruce and Ana set up for the night that I've been writing and rewriting for years now (they're off to a good start, right?). But don't worry, as awesome as Travis is, I want him and Bruce to be best buds too, haha._


	15. I:XIV

**Saturday, February 12, 2000; 11:50am – ****Ala Moana Park; Honolulu, Hawaii**

Irritated was putting it lightly. Furious was more like it.

He wanted to leave, return to his own brooding back at Princeton. Ana was sunshine compared to him, and she didn't need any clouds spoiling her. And he had told Alfred just that.

But he _was_ glad to see her again.

It didn't really help matters when Alfred dropped them off at Ala Moana Park, informing them that he'd be back to retrieve them within the hour without much of an explanation.

Ana immediately started through the park, leaving Bruce to either stand there, waiting like an idiot, or to follow her like some lost puppy. Neither image was particularly appealing. But, of course, he resorted to the latter, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he reluctantly dragged his feet after her. As glad as he was to see her, and as much as he was prepared _not_ to see her again, the least he could do was keep an eye on her.

"You can drop the moody act, Bruce. I know you're glad to see me," she finally boldly stated, half slowing in her stride so she could be next to him.

He struggled to hide his change in expression, from indifference to annoyed. She wasn't supposed to be able to read him like a book. "And you think you know me now?" he so boldly repeated, glancing to her daringly.

She hesitated, recognizing the question with a lingering smile. "Yeah, I think I do."

His eyebrows rose, silently asking her to elaborate, and she easily noticed the familiar expression. Slipping her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans, she lengthened her stride in order to walk at a slower, more lounging pace. "You're like me. In a way. You put on an act for everyone, pretending you don't want people to see right through it." She playfully bumped into him, altering her stride to be clumsier in recovery, "Too bad for you I can see right through your little act."

He stopped suddenly, causing her to stop a couple of strides later. Cocking his head, it was almost like he was looking at her for the first time. She surprised him, genuinely. She knew him as well as Alfred did after only a week. And that one small statement she finally confessed wasn't the only clue to that conclusion. As much as he didn't like it, she had gotten to know him well enough to read and understand his every quirk and expression. And as much as he didn't like it, he knew they were more alike than he wanted them to be.

Why couldn't she be more like Rachel? More bold and sure of herself, and much less observant and contemplative about life's questions.

"What?" she questioned innocently.

He could read her too. When he had first met her, she was a complete mystery to him, one that needed solving. But with her expression and that genuine hesitance for him, he understood that she was waiting for him. Entirely. She knew what was wrong, but she couldn't fathom why it was bothering him so much to express himself as such. Why, when he was quite content and capable of sorting it out mentally no matter what he was physically doing.

"You already know what," he muttered, trying to keep his annoyance to himself while continuing his stride.

She easily fell back in step with him, grinning from ear to ear. "You're learning."

When they crossed the park so that the sandy beach was in sight, she spoke up again. "So what is the plan today? Alfred was rather mum on the subject."

He shrugged, not even acknowledging her attempt at humor via word choice. "My guess is that today is yours. Whatever you want to do."

"What if I said I just wanted to sit on the beach all day?"

He was half tempted to chuckle, but his sour mood made him swallow the urge. "I think we could hide from Alfred long enough. And whenever you get hungry, we can sneak to the Hard Rock across the street—"

"Hard Rock?" she interrupted, unbelievingly, stopping for emphasis. "As in _The_ Hard Rock Café? They have one here?"

At this, his mood halted, his gaze finally meeting hers again. "What? You've never been?"

She innocently shook her head, her bright blue eyes wide with excitement. "Can we go now?"

He finally laughed.

* * *

**Saturday, February 12, 2000; 12:04pm – The ****Hard Rock Cafe; Honolulu, Hawaii**

Clearly, she'd never been to a Hard Rock, as proven further by her sudden distraction once they entered the restaurant. She darted off towards once of the hanging, signed guitar cases almost immediately, leaving Bruce to follow her, amused. He followed her as she moved from memorabilia to memorabilia, admiring each one silently. It wasn't until they got to the waves of guitars that extended across the restaurant via the ceiling that she realized exactly what she was doing.

"I'm sorry. We can get a table. I was just looking."

He chuckled, still trying to accept the fact that she could make his bad moods disappear. "Take your time. You haven't even gotten to Elvis's frame yet."

She flashed him one of her adorable, bright smiles before moving to the next frame, excitement radiating from her. "They have stuff from the Beatles here. The Beatles! And did you see one of Steven Tyler's scarves back there? Do all of the Hard Rocks have all of this stuff?"

"It varies from city to city, but generally, yes," he replied as he followed her. "Gotham's Hard Rock has something from nearly every genre."

She spun around, her bright eyes twinkling. "No way. How did they get all of this stuff?"

He shrugged as he watched her fascinated form dart for the previously mentioned Elvis jacket that was neatly framed. "Private donations, owner purchases, even the artists themselves donating or selling their stuff in the interest of the general public."

"This is amazing, really. I'd kill to meet some of these guys one day. Steven Tyler, especially. I grew up on Aerosmith," she said, and Bruce wasn't sure if she was still talking to him or just talking in general. Either way, he was sure this sudden and uncharacteristic explosion of excitement would happen at some point, whether by his doing or her own.

Or maybe it was all a ploy to get him smiling and talking to her again. He wouldn't put it past her.

They soon found themselves in the small shop attached to the restaurant, the memorabilia trail ending abruptly at the start of the merchandise. She lingered for a moment at the end of the history trail, hues gazing at the collection of sweatshirts and Tees with the Hard Rock logo.

"You can look around. We have all day," he stated from behind her, startling from her observant state.

She glanced up at him from over her shoulder, her blue eyes gazing upwards at him from under long lashes. "We don't have to, we should eat—"

"Go, Ana. Otherwise I'll buy you a handful of things right now."

"Okay, okay! Sheesh," she muttered, immediately stepping forward towards the racks of _stuff_. Smirking, half amused, half thoughtful, Bruce followed.

She flipped through a couple of the hoodie racks, moving from one thing to another at a much quicker pace than Bruce had seen any girl shop at. But what she lingered at most was the rack of jewelry, her slender fingers examining one of the dozens of bracelets. Funny, he wouldn't have pegged her for a jewelry person.

"It'd look good on you," he said again, over her shoulder.

She smiled as she released the bracelet. "Thanks. But I don't wear jewelry. It gets lost too easily." His expression made her continue, "I have a rough lifestyle, remember? Pretty things don't last long."

_You've lasted this long. _He bit his tongue to refrain from refuting. She was already acting out of character enough for the both of them.

"Well, are you ready to eat? You're the one who's lingering now," she commented, already moving back towards the restaurant.

He gave her a level look, which made her beam as she turned her back to him.

* * *

**Saturday, February 12, 2000; 3:41pm – ****Ala Moana Park; Honolulu, Hawaii**

He realized exactly what Alfred was up to halfway through the day, when they were back on the beach, strolling through the sand barefoot. It wasn't just trying to get Bruce to act normal for once and spend a day entertaining a beautiful girl, though she was successfully entertaining both him and herself much better than he would have.

The Wayne Foundation was holding a charity event for the recent tsunami victims of some parts of the islands. With Earle running everything Wayne these days, he must've figured it was time for a vacation—hence the charity event.

Bruce remembered it suddenly, Ana's talk of surfing and tsunamis abruptly stirring the memory into consciousness. Alfred had mentioned it in passing while they were in Sydney, a possible stop on their return trip. Bruce had, of course, blatantly objected and put the topic out of his mind. He hated Earle and had too little patience to be dealing with him any time soon. If he was more focused, maybe he'd finally get around to firing Earle and taking back his father's vast company.

But he wasn't worthy enough for that responsibility. Not yet.

Ana continued talking while Bruce remained silent next to her, partly enjoying the sound of her voice and partly trying to figure out how to get out of their impending doom. He certainly didn't want to attend any gala in the near future, and Ana had expressed her feelings about staying on the beach and not moving until it was time to leave.

It wasn't like Alfred could drag them to it.

He glanced around. Speaking of Alfred, he was surprised the butler hadn't returned to drag them anywhere yet. That had to mean that he was watching them, too content with what he thought they were accomplishing now to interrupt. Or maybe he had returned to retrieve them, found them enjoying themselves on their own, and disappeared to have a day of vacation to himself.

Alfred take any time for a vacation? The idea was laughable.

But in his search for the aging butler or a sleek, parked town car, Bruce spotted something else. Something worse.

A camera was pointed at him from through the windshield of a parked car. A second one was aimed from beside a van, just over the passenger side mirror.

His stunts in Hilo had been able to evade the paparazzi enough for him to enjoy the little town. Movement of the Wayne Enterprises jet, however, was bound to stir up some overeager photographers.

He was used to ignoring them. But how was Ana going to react? Every time he was with her in Hilo, he wasn't being followed by the photo mongrels. What would she do when she found her picture on the cover of a magazine while she was waiting in line at the store?

Though if Alfred managed to get them to the gala tonight, it would be a lot worse than distant, unrecognizable shots on a beach.

"Ana," Bruce interrupted, earning her curiosity.

"Hm?"

"You do want to stay here for the rest of the day, right? On the beach, I mean."

She rose her slender eyebrows with her cute smile—he was beginning to realize that everything she did was cute. "Of course. Unless you have something else you want to do."

"Ana," he repeated in a sterner tone. "Today has nothing to do with me."

"Yeah, I know. You wanted to be back in Gotham already. Sorry I ruined your plans."

He glanced at her, surprised. That was the first she'd mentioned on that subject. He didn't even know that she entirely realized that she had interrupted his plans to get away from her. But he had to mentally reprimand himself. He needed to stop underestimating her. "I didn't—"

"Before you hurt yourself, tell me what's really on your mind," she said, stopping suddenly and sitting randomly in the sand. "What did you remember?"

How in the world? She was better than Alfred. And that was saying something. He followed suit, sitting cross legged next to her while she stretched out her long legs, letting her toes sift through the sand. "There's a charity ball tonight. Here. Alfred's probably going to try and make us go."

She cocked her head to the side, resting it on one shoulder as she gazed out at the ocean in front of them. "Like the dances you see in movies?" she questioned innocently, apparently trying to picture it in her mind.

He couldn't help but smile. This had to be part of the reason why he liked her so much—she wasn't from his world. "Kind of. Only a lot longer and a lot more boring."

She turned her head to the side, eyeing him carefully with those brilliantly bright blue eyes, emphasized by the afternoon sun. "I think we should go," she said after a moment. "What else have we got to do?"

He tried to keep the annoyance out of his expression. "We have the sunset to watch."

She snorted. "I've seen plenty, and you have the ability to see plenty, too. So that's no excuse for missing your own party."

"It's not my party," he replied quickly with. He didn't hold parties. No need to endure more events like this than necessary.

"Your name's all over it, Bruce. Literally." She gave him a smug smile, adding, "This is a Wayne Foundation event. You should be there."

He had run out of moments to be surprised, and instead just deadpanned to the ocean.

She seemed to sense his confusion and explained her mysterious knowledge. "They had pamphlets in Hard Rock for it, Bruce," she chuckled, leaning forward to pat one of her sandy hands on his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm not some kind of psychic."

"You could entertain yourself. Why am I here?" he replied over his shoulder with, being entirely truthful.

She grinned, sitting forward like him, her legs crossed beneath her. "Because I enjoy your company. And I know that you enjoy mine."

"Would you like to be Bruce Wayne?" he countered with suddenly. "You seem to know me better than I know myself."

"You're better at it." Satisfied with her reply, she leaned back again, propping herself up on her elbows this time and crossing her legs at the ankles. "How about you start enjoying a nice, quality, _normal_ vacation though? Lay back, get a tan. Your skin could use some color."

"You know, I think I like you better when you're quieter and less sure of yourself," he commented.

She smiled, disbelieving. "I think I like you better when you're not lying."

Giving up, he leaned back—all the way back, not caring about the sand that was getting in his hair. He could still see her grin and he focused on that and not the premonitions he was having of that evening.

* * *

_A/N: Firstly, thank you all for reading and sticking with this. I'm sorry I don't update very often. My muses often come and go—more often than not they come when I have no time for them. But fear not, I just have to stumble through these last chapters, and not only is the last chapter of this part already written, but so is like half of the next part. Like I said, my muses work in mysterious ways. So don't you worry, you'll soon have a lot of reading to do. :)_

_I finally got around to watching _Laurel Canyon_. _Interesting_ movie, to put it mildly. What made it entertaining for me was remembering all the _I'm Too Sexy_ video scenes from the movie as well as the random GIFs circulating on the internet—i.e. "That sucked!" or the one where Kermit and Christian have a stare down, lol. But the point is that it's this version of Christian Bale that I'm channeling as Bruce Wayne during these couple of chapters. He's finally getting comfortable and opening up—but he is still Bruce after all._

_And I apparently go through phases. Sometimes my writing is fantastic, and I myself love it. And sometimes it's so-so, like how I feel it's been in the past couple of chapters. I don't quite know how to fix it, but I feel like reading other fanfics with fantastic writing helps a little. So maybe some parts of this chapter sound better. Maybe._

_Anddd a huge shoutout to NMBC-Sally for helping me out with the second part. It's thanks to her that nearly half of it is already written. I'll be putting up another help-me-out post sometime in part two's chapters for part three, so stay tuned! If you cooperate, it's almost like picking your own adventure! And who doesn't love doing that?_


	16. I:XV

**Saturday, February 12, 2000; 7:27pm – ****The Royal Hawaiian; Honolulu, Hawaii**

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe she should've listened to Bruce, and they should've just stayed on the beach.

She definitely wouldn't have spent the last two hours with some specialist Alfred had hired, primping her and squeezing her into a too-revealing, too-expensive dress.

But this was her idea, and Bruce would never let her live it down if she backed out now.

But then, she probably wasn't going to see Bruce again after tonight. He was itching to get on a plane, to get away from her. It didn't matter how often he smiled around her or that stunned look she spotted on his face when he saw her after her two hours of torture. He wanted to leave.

And she didn't blame him. She wasn't that exciting, and he was used to girls far prettier and far richer than her. Girls that traveled the world and wore these kinds of dresses nightly. Girls that knew how to properly swoon a man that they liked.

She didn't mean to torture him by keeping him here, or even by making him go to this event. By them going together, maybe he could satisfy Alfred by at least showing up, and he wouldn't have to endure the rich and snobby alone. Maybe they could even sneak off early, go find some fast food restaurant that was open late, find another way to pass the night.

It was all of those thoughts that kept her silent in her seat as they pulled up to the curb of some fancy resort. It kind of reminded her of the movies, with the red carpet and the photographers. Only there were less than a handful of people on the curb, photographers included, and there were no crowds of people desperate to get a look at the rich and famous.

Despite the small amount of cameras present, there were still a lot of flashing blubs as Bruce exited the car first, turning to help Ana out afterwards. He naturally intertwined his arm with hers, accustomed to escorting women, as they crossed the small space of the sidewalk and headed for the propped open front doors of the resort. As Ana ducked her head from the flashing cameras, almost melting into Bruce's side, he walked as if they were alone, the cameras not even fazing him.

Well, he was Bruce Wayne after all. The paparazzi did come with the territory.

She was still overly conscious of just how low her dress was cut on her back and just how much cleavage was showing in the halter top dress, perhaps even more so once they entered the large meeting room full of people than outside with the cameras. Here, soft orchestral music was playing above the quiet chatter, and gorgeous people in gorgeous dresses and suits filled the room. Well, not everyone was gorgeous, Ana noticed at a closer, less awed glance. But they all fit the bill for being filthy rich.

"I told you so," Bruce muttered to her, not even having to bow his head to do so. With the heels that she was quickly learning to walk in, he only had an inch or two on her compared to the regular three or four he normally had.

She quirked a brow, trying to keep up her ever confident façade. "Told me what?"

"That you wouldn't like it."

She scoffed, but didn't do any more to refute him. It wasn't that she didn't like it, but it wasn't exactly exciting. And she felt awkward and out of place. It was how she expected to feel if she had ever gone to her high school prom, and there was a reason why she avoided that very special dance.

"We can still leave, if you want," he tried, turning his attention fully towards her.

But she shook her head, adamant. "Let's make Alfred happy for once." He looked at her as if she had just given him the answer to the question of life. "Now aren't we supposed to intermingle or something?"

Still reeling from her last statement, he couldn't even manage a smile. "As Bruce Wayne, I should probably be trying to sucker more money out of people."

"Probably?" she questioned jokingly, but his mood was still soured. "Well, how about if you double the amount of money raised? More people will donate because of that. Proven statistic, I'm sure."

He shrugged, the action looking uncharacteristic with him in a fancy tuxedo and his long bangs slicked back. "This isn't that big of a deal. It wasn't even a big tsunami. Earle just wants a mid-year vacation away from the snow."

"Bruce!" she gasped, all playfulness gone. Sure, she wasn't a people person, and even if she had billions, philanthropy still wouldn't be her thing. But still, no one should be talking that way, let alone Bruce, no matter his mood. "You don't mean that."

"And what if I do?" he questioned seriously, his dark eyes defiant.

She glared back, but they were both interrupted by someone clearing their throat from behind them. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," an unfamiliar, taller elder man said, his keen blue eyes darting between the two before resting solidly on Bruce. A smaller woman was at his side, wearing too much makeup and practically drenched in perfume—but Ana did admire her outfit and taste for jewelry.

"Mr. Earle," Bruce replied with, attempting to be lighthearted but the undertone of his mood was all too clear. "Not at all."

"Fancy seeing you all the way out here, Bruce," Earle continued, eyeing the heir of Wayne Enterprises warily.

Now that she knew who he was, Ana's overactive mind went to work at deciphering him. She knew he was the current CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Alfred had mentioned his name before Bruce got around to grunting it. His surprise at Bruce being here was stemmed from his desire to remain the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world. Bruce never attended anything if he could help it. His attendance now could possibly be because he's finally showing interest in his company.

At least, that's what her mind came up with.

And then Bruce either killed the idea entirely, or gave it more fuel, with his next remark—depending on how sharp Earle was.

"Just taking an early vacation," the young billionaire smiled, a fake and mischievous smile at that. "Mr. Earle, this is Ana Williams," Bruce suddenly introduced when Earle's eyes wandered to her.

Taking on the polite role, no matter her previous thoughts of the man, she shook his hand with a bright smile as he eyed her calculatingly. "William Earle," he introduced himself with, before suddenly and abruptly continuing on. "And what is it you do, Ana?"

Floored by his short question, she stuttered out an answer, "Well, I'm still in college. But I work part time as a, uh, paramedic—Sir."

Genuine surprise flittered across the elder man's features, and she spotted Bruce's real smile faint on his lips. "Quite the catch you've got here, Bruce." Bruce nodded once, curtly, in acknowledgement. "Well, I'd best be moving on. People need someone to convince them to give up their hard earned money," Earle joked, clasping Bruce on the shoulder. "You two have fun tonight."

And with that, the CEO mongrel was gone, his wife trailing behind him.

"That was…odd," Ana dared to say, glancing to Bruce.

"That's his way of establishing his dominance. And making sure I won't be sticking around to impede on his throne." She couldn't help but smile at her own genius—she'd pegged the power hungry CEO for exactly what he was. "But you threw him off," he continued, glancing back to her.

"I did?"

"You're smart. Earle's afraid of those who are smarter than him." Did she spot a little pride in that small smile of his?

"Then he should be very afraid of you. You're intelligent and are very capable of scooping the company right out from his greedy fingertips."

He chuckled, finally. Good to know that a close encounter with someone he truly hated left him in a good mood. Or maybe—hopefully—it was just the fact that he got to startle Earle for once. "Oh, he knows this all too well, don't you worry." He paused, glancing around the room again, his smile slowly dissipating. "Are you sure you still want to stick around?"

She, too, glanced around the room, her height allowing her to see over most. "The music's nice," she commented, much to Bruce's disbelief. "Mozart."

"You want to stay because of the music?"

She grinned, finding pleasure in his confusion. "We came, we saw, we conquered, we can get the hell out of here." Two hours of prepping be damned, these heels were already killing her. At least the night was a lesson that she was never going to do this again.

Relieved by her answer, he held out his arm for her, which she gladly took, and they headed across the back of the room, never even making into the actual crowd of the gala. Exiting through the one of the many French doors that lined the ballroom, the cool February air greeted them off the ocean, the sounds of waves overpowering the classical music from inside. A few stray couples lingered along the patio, under the overhanging shade structures, but as they approached the private beach, the sand looked to be empty. Ana glanced around. From here, they could disappear to anywhere. They didn't even need Alfred to drive them, though she was sure he wouldn't mind, even if they didn't stay the entire night at that charity ball. She had gotten Bruce to go, and that was worth something, right?

Releasing his arm once they reached the end of the patio, where cement turned to sand, she bent to relieve her feet from their torture, falling a couple of inches to stand flat footed once more. One more step and she was able to curl her toes in the sand, the cold grains relaxing her stressed feet. Content, she smiled.

But she snapped out of it when Bruce chuckled. "What?" she snapped. "You try wearing these," she offered, holding the heels in front of him.

"They look much better on you," he chuckled.

She snorted. But, abandoning the topic entirely, she set the heels down in the sand by the slender black pole of the thin fence that separated the patio from the beach. It was as out of the way that she could get them if anyone else were to follow their lead and venture out onto the moonlit beach. Then she scooped up the ends of her dress and bunched it in one hand to be able to walk freely through the sand and, with her intentions, eventually the water without ruining her dress.

She had the opportunity to see Honolulu in all its glory with a billionaire paying for the trip, and all she wanted to do was sit on the beach all day. She almost laughed aloud at the thought. But then said billionaire was still beside her, watching her curiously. Sudden laughter might make him even warier of her.

Without even glancing to Bruce, she suddenly started walking, digging her feet deep into the cold sand with each step. A couple of paces out, she spun around, feeling light on her feet. Sandy beaches were hard to come by in Hilo, so this was the best part of this entire trip. During each spin, she managed to catch a glimpse of Bruce, who was following her, clearly amused. Right when she reached the shoreline she stopped, facing the boy billionaire.

"Come appreciate this before we disappear into Honolulu to evade Alfred for the night. You only get to spend a moment on a nighttime, sandy beach with a full moon so often." Once he bent over to remove his own shoes, she turned back around to face the ocean with a smile, wading further in until the waves reached her shins. "It takes a lot to be pretty to me," she muttered to herself, gazing at the dark water. "But you do it quite well." It was a truth, one that she had to state aloud to try and make sense of. She didn't find flowers pretty, or colors, or even babies. Most things didn't impress her. But water… Water was a different story. Whether it be frozen or boiling, it was the one thing in life that she appreciated for its beauty.

Water was what kept her happy.

She nearly jumped when she noticed Bruce standing just behind her. Trying to cover up her scare, she turned to him, "Isn't it pretty? Picture perfect."

He nodded, his dark eyes moving from her to the ocean around them.

Content with getting him to appreciate something for once, she allowed him to view the horizon, stepping out of his way to wander further down the beach. But she only made it two steps before his soft, pampered hand caught hers. Confused, Ana glanced back him, opening her mouth to question what was wrong. But he didn't give her the chance to say anything. Instead he suddenly pulled her into his arms, his lips connecting with hers as if it was routine.

Surprised, Ana froze, causing Bruce to immediately stop. He pulled back, glancing at her regretfully. "I'm sorry," he muttered, his breath warm on her skin.

"No," she managed, realizing that she was actually holding on to him, realizing that this was okay, that she wanted this. This time she leaned forward, kissing his cool lips. He seemed to relax in that instant, worry falling away like the waves receding at their feet. Forgetting about her dress, she let it fall into the water in favor of her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers instinctively running up the back of his neck into his hair as if she'd done this before. His lips grew hungrier at this, covering hers as his tongue begged for her lips to part. She obliged him as one of his hands scraped the back of her neck, the other wrapping around her lower back, his skin touching hers at that bottom of that low cut.

He tasted like fruit—berries. And he kissed like—well, she had nothing to compare him to, but however he was kissing, her own body clearly approved with the way her lips instinctively moved back against his, the way her body molded against him like it belonged there, and the slow, fiery burn that was growing in the pit of her stomach.

When he finally pulled away again, they were both breathing heavy, and neither of them wanted to stop. He gave her another, quick kiss, his hand brushing her cheek in admiration. "We shouldn't…" he breathed, showing his own self control.

Her eyes locked with his, pleadingly. Her body didn't want to stop, not yet. And she wasn't coherent enough anymore to think otherwise. She'd never felt this way about anyone before.

Why the hell did he have to be Bruce _fucking_ Wayne?

He kissed her again, shortly. As if trying to snap her out of trance. "Ana, we should go back."

Reluctantly, she nodded, some part of her subconscious agreeing with him.

Satisfied with that answer, he planted yet another kiss on her full lips before wrapping his arm around her shoulders, allowing her to melt into his side. They both walked in stride back towards the resort and all its bright lights and many guests.

* * *

_A/N: __2:34 am._

_Alyssa, what has finally motivated you to finish these final chapters?_

_-Well, truthfully, I have a paper due tonight, which I have not started._

_Shouldn't that be your first priority?_

_-Of course. But if I had done that instead, these chapters would still be left unwritten, and I wouldn't be able to finish them until my next paper is due._

_So, when are you going to do your paper?_

_-When my Muse decides to fly away again. He only likes sticking around for the fiction stuff, and he has been working hard all day today. A couple of stories and a couple of chapters here. But he does have to catch those cheap, red eye flights, ya know?_

_What if your paper's overdue by then?_

_-Oh, don't worry. I don't let it get that late. I'll just scrape something together in the last hour like I do every time. It's just my university required writing course, no biggie._

_Back to this story, what are your thoughts on this chapter and where the story's going?_

_-Don't'cha hate endings like that? I know, no good stuff. But believe me, you really don't want me writing that kind of stuff anyway. I'm no good at it. But be glad that I completely rewrote this chapter. The first draft was terrible, and long, and terribly long. Icky descriptions, and way too drawn out, boring dialogs. This is more short and to the point, much like our Bruce and Ana. They hate beating around the bush and all that small talk nonsense—it's a waste of time. But I'm glad that I finally was able to write this chapter. From here, it's pretty much downhill—until the end of part two, but I'll leave that for later. And as for the characters themselves…well, if you hated this chapter, go ahead and let me know. I still have two more parts to write and knowing what pisses people off might help me avoid those subjects. __**I want to please you all.**_

_When can we expect the next few chapters?_

_-Very soon. I might post them all at once, RIGHTNOW. Or I might write a little more here in two weeks when my next paper's due. It's all up to my Muse. You'll have to ask him. And it's up to the internet, if I ever get it back._

_Sorry for the wait, y'all. But I hope you enjoy it. :)_


	17. I:XVI

**Sunday, February 13, 2000; 4:05am – ****The Royal Hawaiian; Honolulu, Hawaii**

_Pitch darkness greeted him. A low and steady rumble of thunder echoed through his subconscious, indistinguishable from its source._

_The clicking of heels made the distant thunder background noise as a couple strode into view, sudden moonlight making them visible. The man was handsome, tall, strong, with a pair of sharp, wise blue eyes with a hint of kindness within them. The woman was gorgeous, wrapped tightly in a plush fur coat with bright pearls glistening from around her neck. They both stopped, smiling as if recognizing an old friend._

_Two loud, sharp noises echo through the darkness like two planks slapping together. The man crumples in a heap. The woman falls beside him, the bright pearls bouncing freely around their bodies._

_A third person approaches, unaware of the bodies in her path. Her heels click to a stop, familiar bright eyes staring straight at him as her beautiful smile appears, recognizing him._

_Another gunshot shatters the distant thunder, and she crumples, too._

_The thunder suddenly spreads to the foreground, becoming a roar as bats flood his mind before sudden silence—_

"_Don't be afraid, Bruce."_

Bruce's eyes snapped awake to stare up at a rotating fan above him. No bats, no fallen bodies. Just a plain, white ceiling, darkened by the night.

He was breathing heavy, panting almost. And he relaxed his muscles, realizing that his nightmare had them contracted and stiff.

And then he noticed her.

At his movement, she shifted, curling up tighter into his side. Her head was on his chest, her arm lazily around his torso, and his own arm was around her body, their legs intertwined.

They must have fallen asleep.

He could see that the bottom of her dress was still damp, much like the ends of his pants felt. For not liking dresses, not only did she look beautiful in one, but she wasn't eager to get out of it. The suite they were in was stocked with a change of clothes, but then, he hadn't changed either. They had simply…fallen asleep, quite content as they were.

He considered moving, but thought better of it, for now. He wished he could stay in this moment forever. He wished he could have a happy life.

His nightmare was a reality check. He could never have a happy life. That wasn't what fate had in store for him.

Carefully, he brought his hand up to her bangs that fell in her eyes, brushing them back with one smooth swoop. Her lids fluttered a little at the touch, but grew still again, her eyes beneath them stirring with dreams. He wondered what she was dreaming about. It had to be something pleasant with the small smile on her lips.

He could wait, leave in a couple of days. Enjoy his time with her, make her happy. What harm did a few days do?

She suddenly murmured his name into his shirt, her arm around him subconsciously tightening.

That shot that idea out of the ballpark. If she was already dreaming about him, he'd done enough damage already.

Despite her tight grip, he carefully lifted her arm to slide out from underneath it, using his other arm to remain under her head until the last minute. Once relatively free of her limbs, he released her entirely and slid off of the still made bed. At the change, she simply rolled over and curled up tighter as if cold. Rounding the bed to get closer, he instinctively pulled up the blanket previously folded up on the end of the bed to cover her. Once it was securely around her shoulders, he gently brushed her cheek and kissed her lips ever so delicately one last time.

She was the most amazing woman he had ever met. She deserved more than him.

Finding that his phone was—thankfully—still in his pocket, he stepped out of the bedroom of the suite and quietly closed the door behind him.

Alfred picked up on the fourth ring, trying his best not to sound groggy.

"Yes, sir?"

"We're leaving." This time he said it, it was softer than the first. Not because he was trying to be quiet, but because he wasn't angry about it anymore. He accepted it. He needed to leave. For Ana's sake.

"Yes, sir," was the prompt, questionless reply.

Alfred was at the door barely ten minutes later, looking rather disheveled. But he already had their bags ready and packed, and a plane ticket for Ana was the first thing he handed to his employer.

Bruce hesitated as he looked over the ticket regretfully. Wasn't there a small probability of him being happy? Didn't the universe owe him that much?

Alfred easily noticed the hesitation and took advantage of it. "We don't have to leave right this minute."

At the sound of the butler's voice, Bruce snapped out of it and left the ticket on the decorative end table that lined the front hall of the suite. No note, no goodbyes. It was better this way. He had to convince himself that it was better this way.

With Alfred frowning his disapproval behind him, Bruce stepped out of the suite and headed down the hall without looking back.

**Sunday, February 13, 2000; 5:20am – ****Somewhere over the Pacific**

Bruce was staring out the tiny oval window at the early sunrise as they time traveled through time zones. The ocean, still touched with twilight, looked so still and serene from miles up.

It had looked just as beautiful the night before.

But she had made nature pale in comparison.

"Master Wayne, you have a phone call," Alfred interrupted, causing Bruce to blink away the images he saw hidden in the ocean below.

Resuming a business-like state, he cleared his throat as he took the phone the butler had offered him. "Bruce Wayne."

"Mr. Wayne?" He half expected it to be her, woken up early and calling him, demanding a valid explanation. He should've known better. She was too tame, too selfless to demand anything, something he was aspiring to be right now. She wouldn't be calling him. "Good morning. Glad I could reach you." Bruce's lips thinned in irritation at the small talk, his dark eyes darting back to the window. And as if sensing his irritation, the woman on the other end continued hurriedly. "My name is Brooke Johnson for the Gotham City Courts, and it is required that I inform you of Mr. Joe Chill's public parole hearing tomorrow, February the 14th, at three pm. Do you understand?"

Bruce blinked, catching himself gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles were white. "Why wasn't I informed of this earlier?" he demanded in nearly a growl, earning Alfred's sudden attention from where he had resumed his seat across from him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, but we have been trying to contact you for a week now. This specific number was out of service and several messages were left on your home answering machine."

Bruce didn't even bother with any form of 'Thank you' or 'Goodbye' before hanging up as gently as he could without breaking the handheld's button. Then he calmly set it down on the small table next to his seat.

"Sir?" Alfred questioned curiously, and worriedly, with raised brows.

"We're not going back to Princeton, Alfred. Inform the pilot that we're returning to Gotham."

**Sunday, February 13, 2000; 6:22pm – ****Wayne Manor; Gotham City, New Jersey**

"Once this is over and done with, will you be heading back to Princeton, sir? Or can I persuade you to stay home for a day or two?" Alfred asked as he carried Bruce's bag through the hall, towards the marble stairs. He was clearly concerned, not only by the sudden sullen state of his charge, but also by the sudden disappearing act he had performed at the airport. And to arrive at the Manor in a taxi cab instead of calling him to pick him up. Whatever was going through Bruce's mind, Alfred hoped it would quickly pass.

All the furniture within the manor was still covered in white sheets, only serving to sour Bruce's mood more. This place wasn't a home. It was full of ghosts and unwanted memories.

"I'm not going back at all," he answered as he followed the butler up the stairs.

"You don't like it there?" Alfred almost sounded hopeful, looking for Bruce to say something—anything about Hawaii or Ana.

"I like it fine."

Alfred took a long glance at his young charge, looking for any hint of what he meant, before his eyes returned to where his feet were going, giving up. "I've prepared the master bedroom."

"No," Bruce replied simply, slipping his hands in his pockets and glancing up at the large covered painting on the wall at the top of the stairs. "My bedroom will be fine."

"With all due respect, sir, Wayne Manor is your house."

"No, Alfred, it's my father's house," he replied curtly.

"Your father is dead—"

"This place is a mausoleum, if I have my way, I'll pull the damn thing down brick by brick," Bruce demanded, his deep voice reverberating off the stone walls.

Alfred stopped on the stairs and turned to face him, the anger and disappointment clear in his blue eyes. "This house, Master Wayne, has sheltered six generations of your family."

Bruce glanced at him with a dark glare. "Why do you give a damn, Alfred, it's not your family."

Alfred paused as he looked Bruce over before continuing, "I give a damn because a good man once made me responsible for what was most precious to him in the whole world." Bruce hesitated, not finding anything to refute that with. No matter how sour his mood, he couldn't fight back against that.

Alfred looked back to the stairs and began to climb them again at a faster pace than before. Bruce watched him climb a few steps before following by taking two stairs at a time. "Ms. Dawes has offered to driving you to the hearing tomorrow. She probably hopes to talk you out of going."

Rachel had already called. Of course she knew, she was the assistant DA.

"Should I just bury the past out there with my parents, Alfred?"

"I wouldn't presume to tell you what to do with your past, sir," the butler began as he slowed to a stop, more meaning in that one sentence than Bruce could overanalyze. Bruce strode past him a couple of steps before turning to face him. "Just know that there are those of us who care about what you do with your future."

He paused as he looked at his oldest friend, his dark eyes clearly displaying the hurt he had caused himself in returning here, in leaving the one good thing in his life. "Haven't given up on me yet."

"Never," Alfred replied with a small smile before setting down his employer's bag and turning to head back down the hallway.

Bruce watched him leave for a moment before picking up his bag and turning to stride into his parents' bedroom. It was the only room without white sheets composing the scenery. Everything was still in place as he remembered it and after he set down his bag, his eyes found a picture of his parents, framed in a small gold frame. He sentimentally scooped it up as he ran my thumb over the glass. They made his resolution that he had formed on the plane ride home all the harder. The resolution that he had been subconsciously keeping for years. He had to go through with it.

As he set the frame back down, his hand moved to the object sitting next to it: his father's stethoscope. Opening the long black case slowly, he took a deep breath as the old memory came back to him. The memory of when he was only eight and things were still simple and happy, and he was trying to use it to check his father's heart as he watched his only son with a small, proud smile.

Bruce closed the case before heading over to his duffle bag that he had set on the bed. Zipping it open, he intentionally lifted up a couple of shirts to reveal the small hand gun he had placed there less than an hour before, on his way home—_no, not home_—from the airport.

He opened the cylinder to check the ammunition, and sure enough it was still fully loaded. He slipped it into his coat pocket before pulling off his coat and throwing it over the back of the chair still perched at his father's desk.


	18. I:XVII

**Tuesday, February 15, 2000; 2:58pm – ****Riverside Apartments; Hilo, Hawaii**

It was just another, ordinary day for her. Wake up, go to class, deal with Travis, go to work, go to sleep, repeat. Mundane actives to rinse and repeat with. Things that she could perform without a lot of thought. She didn't even bother with surfing, or anything water-related for that matter.

And all of these things had worried Travis, which he was sure to verbally express.

But she quickly snapped out of it when something different entered her life again.

Spotting the vase full of flowers perched on her doorstep from her car wasn't a difficult feat. Imagining how they got there the entire way up the flight of stairs was.

She hesitated before scooping the vase up. Part of her was tempted to throw the gift over the balcony, let it crash on the cement below. Part of her wanted no further reminders of _him_, of all that he had done for her, of how he had changed her.

Yet, part of her wanted the reminder, for as long as it would live. Even though it wasn't really a reminder. She hated flowers. He knew that.

Finally, she scooped it up and turned—towards the balcony railing. And she even almost let go. But something caught her eye, something that didn't belong.

Hidden within the stems of the brightly colored petals, a brown bracelet stuck out from the mess of green. Her slender fingers plucked the piece of jewelry from the plant and she examined it with a sly grin. The words 'Hard Rock' circled the bracelet, hinting to its origin as well as the sender of the flowers. The tiny tag attached to its end twirled in the wind, and a nearly microscopic 'Happy Valentine's Day' was neatly printed in elegant cursive.

She released the vase, ignoring the glass shattering behind her as she strolled into her apartment, already trying to maneuver the reminder onto her wrist without much emotion.

Travis banging on her door less than an hour later with a copy of some cheesy tabloid in his hand, ranting on about how he finally knew someone famous, didn't even faze her mood, either.

_I'll leave you with this: Alfred's a tricky old bastard._


	19. I:XVIII

**Monday, February 14, 2000; 2:02pm – ****Wayne Manor; Gotham City, New Jersey**

He found Rachel standing next to the counter in the kitchen, examining one of the apples in the small apple box in front of her. She had grown into her beauty over the few years since he had last seen her. Her dark hair was pinned back to show off that beauty, but Bruce had to admit that she was more cute while Ana was more beautiful—_don't think about her._

"Alfred still keeps the condensed milk on the top shelf," Bruce interrupted with the lightest tone he had used since his return to Gotham. She didn't deserve his sour mood. And she wasn't as understanding as Ana—_stop it._

"Hasn't he noticed you're tall enough to reach it now?" she asked as she set down the apple and turned towards him, her soft brown eyes underneath her raised eyebrows meeting his with a smile.

"Old habits die hard, I guess," Bruce replied with a small smile of his own as he set down his jacket on one of the chairs before closing the distance between them. She coyly leaned against the counter, looking up at him.

"Never used to stop us anyway."

"No it didn't." They both grinned at the memories. "How's your mom?" he asked as he leaned back against the counter as well. This was no small talk. Bruce missed both Rachel and her mother. And with Mrs. Dawes' health worsening over the years, he was genuinely concerned.

He just didn't always show it.

Rachel paused, looking for the right words, "She misses this place." And then she shrugged in agreement, "So do I."

"Yeah…" Bruce muttered thoughtfully, "but it's nothing without the people who made it what it was. Now there's only Alfred," he said with a fading smile.

She cocked her head to the side, curious to what impact her next words would have, "And you."

"I'm not staying Rachel—"

"You're just back for the hearing," she replied, defeated.

Bruce nodded singularly.

She looked down at the counter in slight sorrow before taking a breath and looking back to him, "Bruce, I don't suppose there's any way to convince you not to come."

He turned to look down at the ground as he folded his arms. His mind had been made up. He had to do something for his parents. And he'd thought about this day for over a decade. The chance to avenge his parents. The chance to get their justice. The chance to get _him_ justice. He could've led a perfectly happy life if fate hadn't violently orphaned an eight year old boy. He could've been with her—_no. _There was nothing that was going to keep him from going. Rachel had no chance. "Someone at this…_proceeding_," he muttered, rolling his eyes in mockery, "Should stand for my parents."

Rachel looked pained. "We all loved your parents, Bruce. What Chill did is unforgivable—"

"Then why's your boss letting him go?" he demanded suddenly, aggressive.

She sighed as she closed her eyes before continuing. "In prison, he shared a cell with Carmine Falcone. He learned things, he will testify in exchange for early parole."

Bruce was shaking his head by now, not believing that she was willing to let him walk free, too. He couldn't, not for what he'd done. "Rachel, this man killed my parents," he whispered, looking back at her with darkened eyes. She returned the look with a concerned expression, not liking the look in his eyes or the sudden change in the tone of his voice. "I cannot let that pass. And I need you to understand that, please."

She hesitated, studying him carefully, trying to decipher the true meaning of his words. Finally, "Okay."

**Monday, February 14, 2000; 3:13pm – ****Gotham City Court House; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Bruce tuned out most of the trial, instead choosing to focus all of his energy at glaring at the back of Chill's balding head. He was slouched in his chair, his hands clenched in fists in his empty pockets. He wanted to strangle the man sitting only a few rows in front of him, erect and with his full attention on Faden passing his judgment. But a gun would be easier, quicker. A gun would produce absolute results.

His mind briefly flashed to the patiently waiting revolver, back in Rachel's car.

"The Depression hit working people, like Mr. Chill, hardest of all," Finch, Gotham's current DA, began. "His crime was appalling, yes, but it was motivated not by greed, but by desperation. And given his fourteen years already served along with his extraordinary level of cooperation with one of this office's most important investigations, we strongly endorse his petition for early release."

"Mr. Chill," Judge Faden announced as the DA sat down and Chill stood up. Bruce's dark and deadly eyes followed the murderer like magnets.

"Your Honor, not a day goes by that I don't wish that I could take back what I did," the aging man began. He seemed to breathe in a silent sigh, composing himself, trying to bite back the nervousness. "Sure I was desperate, like a lot of people back then, but that don't change what I did." Slowly, he reclaimed his seat, his nerves still running wild.

Bruce fumed. No apology in the world could make up for what he had done. What had his parents ever done to warrant death? They had only helped people, helped people like him. Chill had no right to breathe after what he did. And Bruce was going to make sure of that, one way or another.

"I gather there is a member of the Wayne family here today," startling both Bruce and Chill into frozen shock. Bruce was glad for the opportunity, glad that Chill would know who was at the other end of the bullet fate had planned for him. But Chill froze entirely, his eyes wide, staring straight ahead. He remembered the little boy he'd left in the alleyway. He didn't dare turn around like the rest of the court to see what his mistakes had created. "Has he got anything to say?" Faden continued out of customary requirements, just like the customary requirement that called Bruce to inform him of this very hearing.

As all eyes focus on him, all eyes except the very pair he wanted to glare into, he slowly stood. Daring that _murderer_ to just glance at his creation, Bruce burned holes in the back of Chill's head with his deathly glare.

But Chill remained frozen, his wide hues refusing to look.

Giving up for earning any reaction, Bruce finally turned and stalked out of the room without a single word. He didn't need to see the fear in Chill's eyes, not until he pulled that trigger.

Retrieving the gun was easy—leaving the door unlocked for himself while Rachel presumed her car was safely secure. Sneaking it back into the foyer of the court house was just as easy. Both of his hands remained deep in his pockets, one of his fists wrapped tightly around the chilling, metal object. And the metal detectors weren't until the main part of the court house—the loopholes that Gotham's underworld took advantage of.

As he rounded the corner, a couple of lingering photographers waiting for the trial end off to the side of the main line in front of the court house stopped him abruptly. Pushing himself back up against one of the dozens of pillars that lined the large hall, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and make sense of the adrenaline pumping through him. But despite his heartbeat thundering in his hears and his deep breathing in attempts to circulate oxygen better, his face had paled, preparing for what he was about to do.

Pulling out the small metal object that could change so much, he examined it secretly, running his fingers over the cool metal. He held it how it was supposed to be held, his index finger hovering over the trigger. But if felt unnatural. He carried the power of God in his hand.

Ignoring the sensation, his thumb pulled back the hammer and he checked the full cylinder again, trying to ease his concerns. He had been waiting for this for fourteen years. He was ready, no matter the consequences.

"He's coming out the side!" A reporter suddenly shouted, causing Bruce's head to snap up and over his shoulder as reporters streamed down the couple of steps to get a good view. Sure enough, the double doors of the side entrance to Gotham's premier court house swung open and a brigade of cops stormed out.

Taking one last breath, Bruce hid the gun in his sleeve, hunching his shoulder to keep the barrel of the tiny revolver from sticking out from his fingers.

_You're ready._ The tiny voice in his head kept repeating, drowning out all other noise. Reporters tried desperately to get Chill's attention, and one even recognized the Wayne heir and shouted his name. But all of this fell on deaf ears. Bruce was determined to do this. With one foot in front of the other, he stalked numbly towards the moving mob. Chill was right in front, a perfect target, with cops flanking his sides.

_You're ready._

Each step brought the fated bullet closer to its final destination.

_You're ready._

He was going to die.

_You're ready._

Just like Bruce's parents had.

_You're ready-_

"Joe, hey Joe. Falcone says hi." _Bang._

Bruce froze midstep, his dark eyes widening as Chill crumpled to the floor, swamped by the mob of people around him. In horror, he watched the man he was about to murder, the man he _had_ to murder, die before his very eyes by someone else's hands.

His chance was gone. Justice was served, but he had not avenged his parents.

That had been _his_ responsibility.

"Come on, Bruce. We don't need to see this," Rachel tried, tugging on his arm, her eyes also locked on the serene yet chaotic scene before them, unable to look away from the train wreck.

But Bruce didn't move an inch, only taking the time to shrug her off as his hues greedily ingested everything happening before him. Calmly, he replied, "I do."

And Bruce watched the man who ruined his life die on the cold, marble floor.

**Monday, February 14, 2000; 5:48pm – ****32****nd**** and Jefferson; Gotham City, New Jersey**

"The DA couldn't understand why Judge Faden _insisted_ on making the hearing public," Rachel began after a few minutes of silence in the car. Talking had always helped her solve things, cope with things, so Bruce didn't interrupt. Or tell her to shut up. "Falcone paid him off to get Chill out in the open."

"Maybe I should be thanking them," Bruce stated flatly.

"You don't mean that," she said quietly.

"What if I do, Rachel?" he demanded with more emotion. "My parents deserved justice."

"You're not talking about justice, you're talking about revenge."

Shrugging, "Sometimes they're the same."

"No, they're never the same, Bruce. Justice is about harmony. Revenge is about you making yourself feel better. That is why we have an impartial system-"

He snorted, "Oh, your system is broken."

Rachel's lips thinned and she suddenly jerked the wheel to the left, cutting off a couple of cars as she darted across two lanes. "You care about justice?" she began, her voice rising as her own anger began to show at his selfish stupidity. "Look beyond your own pain, Bruce. This city is rotting. They talk about the Depression as if it's history, and it's not. Things are worse than ever down here."

Clenching his jaw at the lecture, but absorbing her harsh and direct words, and what they were driving through, Bruce stared blankly out the windows as they sped past the heaps of garbage and the flocks of bundled up homeless.

"Falcone floods our streets with crime and drugs, preying on the desperate, creating new Joe Chills every day. Falcone may not have killed your parents, Bruce, but he's destroying everything they stood for."

Suddenly jerking the Ford to a stop, Rachel roughly put the vehicle in park to glare at Bruce, daring him to understand where she had just brought them. "You want to thank him for that, here you go. We all know where to find him, but as long as he keeps the bad people rich and the good people scared, no one will touch him. Good people like your parents who will stand against injustice, they're gone. What chance does Gotham have when the good people do nothing?"

Bruce swallowed, the emotions he had shut out for the past half hour suddenly seeping in. Rachel had the ability to stir something inside of him. When she wanted them to, her words could hit home with him. Keeping his jaw clenched in anger, now more at himself than anything, he glared out the window. "I'm not one of your good people, Rachel."

"What do you mean?" she questioned with a disbelieving smile. In all of their years, she had always looked up to him. She tried so hard to pick him back up on his feet so he could become the man she knew he could be. The truth was going to shatter that vision of him.

She'd never forgive him. She was one more good person he needed to push out of his downward spiral of a life.

"All these years I wanted to kill him," he said quietly, easing into the truth like it was boiling water, pulling out the revolver from his pocket as proof. "Now I can't."

He finally chanced looking at her, gingerly holding the weapon in his hands as if it were glass, and as he had guessed, she was furious. Shocked and furious. Once she had digested what he was holding, those chocolate eyes flashed with up to him with disappointment as she stared unbelievingly at Bruce.

_Slap. _

It didn't hurt. Ruffled his loose bangs a little and relaxed his jaw as it brought feeling back to his face.

_Slap._

He didn't even try to fight the second one either. He deserved her disapproval. He was a coward with a gun.

"Your father would be ashamed of you."

His cold glare leveled on her. It was one thing to accuse him, but she didn't know anything about his father. She could be as disappointed in him as she wanted to be, but she had no right dragging his father into this. Jutting his jaw out in anger, his dark eyes flashing with sudden rage, he managed to slip out of the car and slam the door instead of doing something he would regret to her.

But deep down, he knew she was right.

The two bouncers who had been eying the blue Ford curiously straightened up as Bruce got out, their wary gazes overlooking the boy billionaire, sizing him up.

Shooting a daring glare their way, Bruce instead turned and headed towards the pale light that seeped in from a descending driveway.

Rachel didn't start the car and leave until he reached the top, the cold Gotham wind greeting him off the river just yards away. He shuffled to the edge, staring numbly at the city around him. The towering skyscrapers that defined the south island created a wall of reflections.

This had been his parents' city, and what had it done for them? Gotham had murdered them, left them for dead. He didn't want to claim this city, not as the Prince of Gotham. He wanted nothing to do with this city.

Gotham _was_ death.

His dark blue hues glanced from the dangerous city to the horizon along the Atlantic. Small ripples of waves continuously moved in from the vast ocean, keeping the water constantly moving. And even though the twilight-touched cloudy day cast everything in shades of grey, Bruce couldn't help but think that Ana would still find this beautiful.

He clenched his jaw, pushing her out of his mind, and setting his resolve. Gotham could be pretty again. Gotham could mean more than death to him and to the rest of her citizens. But someone had to do something. And it would take more than Rachel's 'good' people.

First things first—he'd never be a coward again. Withdrawing the revolver from his coat pocket, his thumb stroked the smooth, cold surface again, far from passionately. It felt heavy in his hand, heaviest it had felt all day. Like it didn't want to be abandoned. Like it wanted to be used. But as he stared at it, all he could think of was that night, the night that one of these was pointed at his parents and actually applied. The night that a petty thief became God.

With a flash of rage at the images it stirred, Bruce heaved the manmade weapon into the river. It sunk with a loud, protesting splash.

No more being a coward. No more guns.

Now secondly—Falcone. It was time he prepared himself for a change.

Bruce strode up confidently towards the underground bar. Before he reached the door, the two bouncers standing guard shifted into his way, halting him to roughly pat him down. It didn't matter who he was down here.

Once he passed their first test, he was escorted inside by one of them. He almost waddled behind Bruce as if his muscles made him incapable of applying his evolutionary jointed appendages.

Falcone was being treated like low class royalty. Dressed in white in a booth to himself, with a wide radius of space around him that only his personal bodyguards could pass through. But before Bruce could stalk too close to The Roman, he was stopped abruptly by an oversized forearm attached to a quickly standing bodyguard. The movement earned Falcone's attention, and his weathered eyes sized the youth up.

"You're taller than you look in the tabloids, Mr. Wayne," he commented as the bodyguard roughly finished his pat down. Once Bruce was deemed worthy enough to join Falcone, he was shoved down into the booth. "What? No gun? I'm insulted."

Ignoring Falcone's poor attempt at humor, Bruce glared down the bodyguard who remained standing, muscles flexed.

"You could've just sent a thank you card," he attempted again.

"I didn't come here to thank you," Bruce snapped, his undivided attention suddenly on notorious mob boss. "I came here to show you that not everyone in Gotham's afraid of you."

The elder man only flashed an amused smile. "Only those who know me, kid. Look around you," he began as he leaned forward, pointing lazily with his finger around the room. But Bruce's unwavering glare remaining solely on him, losing Falcone's intended emphasis. "You'll see two council men, a union official, a couple off-duty cops, and a judge." He pulled out his hefty gun suddenly and propped his elbow on the table as he pointed it lazily at the handsome billionaire's face. "Now I wouldn't have a second's hesitation in blowing your head off right here and right now in front of them. Now that's power you can't buy. That's the power of fear."

"I'm not afraid of you," Bruce repeated firmly, truly unintimidated by the gun pointed at him. He was prepared for anything. He accepted his fate now.

"Because you think you've got nothing to lose," Falcone added. "Well you haven't thought it through. You haven't thought about your lady friend down at the DA's office. You haven't thought about your old butler—_bang_." He fired the empty gun off to the side before leaning back and putting it away. "People from your world have so much to lose. Now you think because your mommy and your daddy got shot, you know about the ugly side of life. But you don't. You've never tasted desperate. You're, uh, you're Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, you'd have to go a thousand miles to meet someone who didn't know your name. So don't—don't come down here with your anger trying to prove something to yourself. This is a world you'll never understand. And you'll always fear what you don't understand."

Bruce absorbed the words just as he had Rachel's. He hadn't known about all of this. He couldn't know about all of this. But he'd have to learn if he wanted to accomplish anything.

Falcone took a breath, assessing the damage his words had done, before glancing to his men and nodding, "Alright."

One of them came up behind Bruce and threw his head to the side before putting his arm around his neck, attempting to force him up that way. His anger rose again at the uncalled for roughhousing as he struggled before elbowing the man who held him in the gut. This earned Falcone's attention, his fingers curled curiously around the edges of his newspaper still resting on the table. Two of his men grabbed both of Bruce's arms and held him as a third gave him a solid punch to the face. Doubling over, Bruce recovered, forcing his hand up to touch his cut lip. Fire flashed in his blue hues and he glared dangerously at the goon who dared to hit him.

"Yeah, you've got spirit, I'll give you that," Falcone interrupted, almost admiringly. "More than your old man, anyway." That snapped Bruce's attention immediately to him again, stilling to focus purely on Falcone. His father had been dragged into enough conversations for one day, and Falcone had no right to even mention him in passing. "In the joint, Chill told me, uh, told me about the night he killed your parents." The younger man's eyes narrowed dangerously. "He said your father begged for mercy. _Begged_. Like a _dog_." Rage turned the world red as Bruce struggled to get free, to wrap his hands around that old, thick turkey neck attached to that hideous, demented smile of dominance. But both bodyguards dragged him out, unfazed by his feeble struggles.

And suddenly he was face down on all fours outside of the bar, staring at the ever present grime that was a part of the street.

"You should've tipped better."

Slowly getting back to his feet, Bruce glanced at the source of the humor, wiping his wet, dirty, and bloody face with his scarf in the process. With an idea forming in his emotionally tired mind, he shuffled over towards the bum and his source of heat.

So he had to travel a thousand miles to meet someone who didn't know who he was. He had to travel that far to know real darkness and real crime. He had to travel that far to find his fate.

Lazily unwrapping his scarf, he bundled it up as if trying to get it warm, but much to the surprise of the other man, Bruce simply tossed it into the garbage can, the flames licking at the new fuel. His fine, expensive, leather wallet was next, his fingers slipping the collected cash out before tossing it carelessly like it was a rock. The bum stared at Bruce like he was nuts.

Bruce glanced back, offering the cash with his fingers.

"For what?" the other man asked in his raspy voice, almost concerned as to what the younger man was going to do next.

"Your jacket," Bruce deadpanned.

"Okay." A wad of cash that looked to contain only big bills for his ratty old jacket, why not? At least the crazy young man didn't want something else for that much cash. As they both slunk out of their extremely varying jackets, Bruce was soon folding his lavish, wool one up, ready to toss it, too. But the bum held out his grimy hand, stopping him. "Heyhey, letme have it. It's a nice coat," he objected, his words slithering together. Bruce not caring either way, they exchanged coats.

"Careful who sees you with that," Bruce stated seriously as he shrugged into the different jacket. The older man questioned why with his eyes, his lips currently holding his income for the day as he thrust his arms gently through the fancy coat. "They're going to come looking for me."

"Who?" he finally managed, genuinely curious.

"Everyone." Bruce stalked past the other man and his personal fire, heading back out to the ramp that led to the river. Instead of the light leading the way, the early sunset had already brought evening to the city, and the downtown lights of the skyscrapers twinkled on the river water. It reminded him of her again briefly, but he strolled numbly along, pushing her out of his thoughts.

He stopped once he got deeper in the shipyard, the large cargo ships towering over the numerous crates that seemed to be a permanent fixture, and a low fog horn greeted him, signaling the last call for one of the cargo ships.

He was tired. Emotionally, physically drained. But he had a new mission now, now that his last was left unfinished and impossible. He had a purpose in life again, and he would not come back until fate told him to. Until he had accomplished this new mission that even he couldn't entirely define. It was time to take a page from Ana's book and just go with it for once.

He was going to learn the world. He was going to learn his limits. And above all, he was going to learn to fight back.

Even though he was tired, he was ready.

_You're ready._

Forgetting Alfred, forgetting Rachel, forgetting Ana, his head turned towards the ship that was ready to make way, his mind finally clear.

The _Capricorn_

It would do.

Taking off at a sprint, he hurried to slip onboard before the oversized ship pushed off for the Atlantic.

_A/N: End of part one. Yay! How excited are we? I'll give you all some time to catch up on the sudden onslaught of chapters—I warned you—before posting the few chapters I have prepped and ready for part two. I feel like a couple of days is enough time. :D_

_Oh, and if some words don't make sense in the last few chapters, I wrote all of this between 10pm and 6am—all of it to procrastinate that paper I mentioned. Not only did I not have easy access to internet (and I was too lazy to get up and grab my handy Thesaurus and Dictionary), but I was in the mood for using big words that I normally don't use. So if they're spelled wrong or used incorrectly—my apologies. My night owl brain was trying to sound smart for you all._

_And yes, I tried to make the end of this sound all epic-like, lol. I felt it needed it, just for shits and giggles._

_Now, review. Or else I'll send the review zombies after you. I think writing this much deserves some praise._


	20. II:I

**Part II**

* * *

**Monday, August 4, 2008; 6:01am – Penthouse Buildings Inc, 30 Central Park S; New York City, New York**

"_Today's top news in the New England area is still all about Gotham City. The City is still undergoing terrorist attacks by a man who calls himself the Joker. Several hundred million dollars in damage has already been caused, as well as the deaths of many officials in the area, such as the Honorable Judge Surrillo, the Police Commissioner Gillian Loeb, and the assistant district attorney Rachel Dawes. The current DA is also in critical condition in Gotham General Hospital as a result of a bomb explosion…"_

The figure who had previously been pouring himself a cup of fresh, hot espresso in his meticulously clean kitchen froze when he heard the familiar name from the television in the other room. The espresso overfilled his coffee cup and ran onto the countertop, steam rising from the hot liquid. Finally, as the coffee dripped from the counter and the television continued on to what the incompetent GCPD were doing to stop the Joker, he set the espresso pitcher down in the puddle of fluids and took in one, singular breath. Then suddenly the full coffee cup was in his hand momentarily before hurtling towards the opposite wall where it shattered upon impact, leaving a decent looking Rorschach smear that was slowly running down the paint. He took little pleasure in the burning sensation that the spilt coffee left on his hand, and he clenched and unclenched it to relax the overly tense muscles.

But instead of focusing on the running stain on his wall, he glanced to the picture frame that he could see from the kitchen. Slowly he approached it, his anger rising. Framed was a picture of him and the love of his life, both younger, both smiling. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, hugging her close. Her long brown hair was flowing in the cool, fall wind. Carefully he picked it up, his right thumb gently running over her picture, her beautiful face.

Her job was a dangerous one. He had told her that more than once. He had wanted her to stay with him in New York after college rather than returning to Gotham. She would've been safe here with him. He would've protected her.

Now she was dead.

He had thought that _he_ could've protected her when _he_ finally returned, but he was wrong. _He_ was more concerned about blowing that ridiculous fortune that fell into his lap. _He_ couldn't even care to look out for the one person _he_ _thought_ _he_ cared about. The Waynes couldn't be trusted, he had learned that long ago. And now she had paid the price of his mistake.

He gently set down the frame before moving to find his cell phone. He had a lot of phone calls to make, a lot of things to do. For starters, he was going to return the favor.

As his thumb brushed through his contacts, a knock sounded at the door. Pausing, his thumb hovering over the important task, he cocked his head, curious as to who was on the other side. "Who is it?" he beckoned.

Another knock was his answer.

Setting the phone down next to the framed picture, he wandered towards the door. Glancing through the peephole revealed a small woman, with her black hair pulled tightly back into a stern bun emphasizing her East Asian heritage.

Harmless.

He swung open the door and there to greet him was not just one, but four. Three were dressed in matching tailored suits surrounding the smaller woman and wearing stern expressions. The unique one of the group cocked her head as her dark eyes analyzed the subject before her.

"Dr. Elliot, do you mind if we come in? I believe I have some information that might be of use to you."

* * *

_**A/N:** Just a quick update: Here's what's been going on:_

_So far, during their college years, Bruce's jet needs repairing on a return trip to Gotham, so he and Alfred make a pit stop in Hilo, Hawaii where Ana lives. They randomly run into each other around town, slowly recognizing each other's faces and names until Ana boldly invites Bruce to take a day trip with her to see the sights. They have a fun time, but moody Bruce wants to leave before he gets too attached. Alfred intervenes and surprises them both with a day trip to Honolulu, where they both are forced to interact—Ana trying to improve Bruce's mood, and Bruce still trying to keep her at a distance. However by the end of the night, where they both attend a local Wayne Foundation event, they finally get along and have a memorable night. Before the sun rises, however, Bruce awakes to a nightmare and decides to leave again, but not out of fear of getting close, but because he has to (because he's moody and has ridiculous senses of duty, etc-oh, and because he has to go off and become Batman). On his return plane ride, he receives a call from the Gotham DA's office about Joe Chill's hearing. While he attends the hearing in Gotham, Ana tries to shrug off Bruce's visit entirely, even when she gets a Valentine's Day present sent to her by Alfred for Bruce._

And a shout-out to NMBC-Sally for helping me out such a long time ago about where this story was going to go. Thanks for the help, hon.  



	21. II:II

**Tuesday, August 5, 2008; 12:58am – Near Dixon Docks; Gotham, New Jersey**

The rhythmic drumming of the large motorcycle beneath him didn't help his current state of consciousness. Everything was in shades of gray, grayer than normal, making things harder to distinguish, harder to tell if his vision was fogging again. A blur passed by on his right, a rectangular shape that took him a moment to realize that it was a speed limit sign. He didn't know how fast he was going—nor did he care, but he did manage to distinguish a street corner. He took the turn sharp enough to make sparks fly from underneath the machine as the metal along the right side tore against the asphalt. Adrenaline shot through him again, much weaker than what had been powering him before, but enough to clear his vision again; the pain from the effort of the turn causing his vision to flash red as well. His body was reaching its limit, as much as he hated to admit it. From all the injuries he had sustained, his body couldn't keep going. He had to find a safe place to crash. The best and closest option right now was the shipyard, the first place Alfred would look.

Sirens echoed through the streets behind him, an unwanted sound that he was able to hear again with the small dose of adrenaline. They were far enough away not to worry him too much, but his mind made them sound so much closer; those sirens were no longer friendly sounds.

The bike wobbled slightly before he noticed that his vision had reverted back to foggy gray and the corners were beginning to blacken. _Not yet, I'm not safe yet._ He made another sharp turn, causing more sparks to fly towards the car he had just cut off, but this time he wasn't rewarded with the clarity and rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins. His vision remained foggy as it narrowed.

_I'm not going to make it._

No, he couldn't think like that. Not now. He was going to make it. He had to make it.

He had turned a block too early to make a straight shot for the shipyard, only five miles south from where he started this mad rush, from where Gordon still was, safe with his family. The weaving through cars and sharp corners to take the long route had kept him awake at first, and it had given him more time to lose the always-following sirens, sirens that he could no longer hear as both the coaxing rhythm beneath him and his throbbing pulse drown everything else out. But it had taken him longer to travel those five miles, a price that it seemed he would have to pay.

The bike wobbled again, and he lowered his chest, causing his entire mid-section to scream in protest, to help steady it. His eyes narrowed to try and see clearer through his slowly narrowing line of sight.

One more block. And one more turn.

He heaved his weight towards his right to make the bike turn the corner. It was easy to get into that position, aside from the protest from his wrists and arms that held him to the machine, and his turn wasn't as sharp as the last few. But he couldn't get back into an upright position. His left leg pushed hard against the metal in an attempt to raise his weight again, and he could feel the heat from the metal pipes radiate against his skin through the armor. It worked, but he was in a constant wobble that neither his body weight nor his arms could steady.

He managed to flick his thumb, firing the guns at the head of the massive machine at the weak fence blocking him from sanctuary. Hopefully no one would notice a missing part of the fence before Alfred got to him. Asphalt turned to gravel, changing the rhythm into a much rougher one. But his body was spent, this change could coax no more strength from him. His weak fingers reached for the brake, but they couldn't grip it tightly enough. The motorcycle was meant for emergency purposes, not something to gallivant around town on. No speedometer, difficult brakes, large tires that made turning impossible for the average Joe. The bike wobbled dangerously again, and he tried desperately to tighten his hand and apply the brake. But no matter how much his mind screamed the command, his fingers wouldn't listen, and they rested idly on the black metal.

He could say with certainty that this had been the most painful thing in his life—physically. Being beaten until he went unconscious or learned to fight back, starving for days on end, enduring Ducard's—no, Ra's impossible training in the freezing terrain of the Himalayas was nothing compared to this. The massive motorcycle he had finally lost control of had hit the gravel on its side as it swerved off the path, sending sparks flying past him as his leg was crushed underneath it and he was dragged behind the skidding machine. It was with this new pain of his leg being trapped against the heated metal of the bare engine and the ground, and the sharp gravel finding spots to dig into the spaces between his armor that made the numb and dull pain he had been barely controlling to scream without mercy. He felt each and every injury he had sustained that night, from broken bones to a point-blank bullet wound, now that Cassandra's training fell by the way-side.

He couldn't tell if the motorcycle had slammed to a stop against one of the crates first, or if he had passed out first.

* * *

**Tuesday, August 5, 2008; 9:32pm – Gotham Century Towers; Gotham, New Jersey**

_Darkness. Silence._

_"Harvey? Harvey, it's alright." Her voice echoed in his mind, in the darkness. She sounded pained, hurt. The realization dawning on her that she was not going to be saved. The realization that Batman came first. So she was doing what she did best, what she could always do. Trying to comfort a distressed Harvey as he was being dragged out of the warehouse._

_Her last words were trying to comfort Harvey. Not her, not him. Harvey._

_Bats suddenly flooded his mind as an explosion ripped through the silence and filled his mind with the image of burning bats…_

His eyes shot open as he panted, trying to catch his lost breath. He blinked, attempting to make himself realize that he was in his bed in the penthouse. But the images from the dream wouldn't go away. Neither would Rachel's voice. Her voice, her last words, would always be stuck in his mind, just like the sound of two gunshots echoing off of alley walls.

With a sudden wave of unbearable pain, the memories of last night, of the past week, came painfully rushing back to overcome the memory of that dream. Joker. Harvey. Gordon. Rachel. He groaned aloud as a result of both the pain and disappointment as he tried to move, which seemed to double the first problem. His panting suddenly subsided as well once he realized that it was causing more pain instead of helping him.

"Perhaps you should lie still, sir." Alfred.

Bruce's dark blue eyes glanced in the direction of his voice to find him sitting next to the bed, preparing a clear drink. It was the same image he had seen only once before, nearly a year ago, only he didn't hurt as much. And it was sunny then. "How long have I been out?" The question came out as a croak as it sent a crushing force searing through his chest above the rest of the slowly numbing and aching pain throughout his stiff body; it felt like his lungs collapsed.

"I'm not quite sure, sir," Alfred replied quietly as he finished stirring the drink. "I found you last night around two o'clock in the morning after I received a call from Mr. Fox." Bruce's brow furrowed, confused. "He was calling to warn me that you might require some assistance in the morning due to the injuries he had witnessed you receive." Alfred offered the glass, but Bruce only glanced at it before shaking his head slightly, his eyes clearly wanting the butler to go on. Right now he wasn't sure if he could stomach anything—he needed to wait a few minutes. Alfred returned the glass to the nightstand before continuing, "He had also informed me that you had run another errand after your escapade near the river. So I, not expecting you back for some time, and especially not here, went to the bunker. Once I was logged on, I found your GPS location just above me." Bruce still looked lost, his eyes now tilted downward as he pieced things together, the memory of last night conceivable but still more of a blur than anything else his sharp mind could remember. Alfred paused before continuing, his own blue eyes full of worry, "You did wake up when I found you, sir. You helped lift that machine of yours off of you, otherwise you'd still be laying there, surrounded by sea gulls."

Bruce didn't acknowledge the humor. "What time is it now?" he managed again, still only a quiet rasp that was hardly a shadow of the Batman growl.

"Nine thirty-five in the evening, sir."

Nine thirty-five. He'd slept an entire day. He tried to move again, causing Alfred to frown and his lead body to ache. "Joker. What happened…?" he muttered, his eyes searching Alfred for a clue, any clue. So much had happened that night, he needed to know the aftermath. He needed to know that he hadn't wasted a precious day.

Alfred reached for something further back on the table the glass was sitting on. "Perhaps you should read this, sir," he said with a hint of remorse in his voice.

Despite how much it hurt, Bruce fully reached for the newspaper as his eyes eagerly devoured the headlines. There was only one headline, the article trailing it simply a line of photographs. The rubble of Gotham General, the worst rush hour seen in Gotham's history, the vibrant makeup of the Joker barely visible through a mob of people—most of them SWAT, police, or national guard; a body bag being wheeled towards an ambulance in front of a broken warehouse backdrop, and above it all a picture of the spotlight with the shadow of a bat focused on the clouds above Gotham. Several bylines flanked the pictures, each one on the photos already present on the page. But above it all, it was the headline that stuck out the most to Bruce, the headline that probably stuck out to everyone.

'_BATMAN'S RAMPAGE. Masked vigilante conspires with Joker and kills five more in a day of terror.'_

Bruce winced. He knew it wouldn't be pretty. And he knew first-hand that the press blew things out of proportion. The Gazette's staff must have stayed up all night working on this. Let everyone think he was the bad guy now. That was the point. In the quick skim of the bylines, specifically the one detailing the murders, he'd learned that Harvey hadn't been blamed at all. He was a victim.

Gordon had pulled it off.

Bruce lowered the paper to see Alfred ringing out a washcloth in the bowl on the table. "Alfred?"

"Yes, sir?" the butler answered as he finished folding the cloth and set it on Bruce's forehead, crushing the few stray hairs beneath it. Before Bruce continued, he glanced upward, though he couldn't really see the warm washcloth that stunk of vinegar, as his arm moved to remove it, but Alfred quickly stilled his arm. "Fever, sir."

Dark blue eyes darted back to the butler in acknowledgement as Bruce stilled. For now he'd leave it, but after Alfred left was a different story. "Is this…right?" he asked quietly. He knew the elder man knew what he was talking about, even if he didn't know all the details. Alfred knew Bruce would never let anyone die if he could help it.

Or so Bruce thought.

But as Alfred paused, his eyes looking elsewhere, Bruce's gut wrenched, and not because of the hole that was in the middle of it. "I believe that you did what you needed to do, sir. Whether it was right or not…the future will tell us that, I suppose."

Bruce pondered the butler's reply. And as usual, he was right. Though the damage was done, they wouldn't know the effects after just one day. He knew Alfred had his doubts about all of this, he had all along. Even he, himself had his doubts now. As for Batman himself…

Suddenly he refolded the newspaper and set it next to him before struggling to sit up. Alfred looked alarmed, but Bruce ignored him. Once he managed to reach a sitting position while using his good arm, the muscles in his back as well as his abdomen burning like hell, he pushed the covers aside, let the washcloth slide off his head, and swung his legs out over the side of the bed.

At this Alfred stood, but aside from that, he didn't move. "And where do you think you're going, sir?" In a matter of seconds his tone had turned from worried to condescending.

Other than his heavier- and quicker-than-normal breathing, Bruce remained silent as he finally pushed himself off the bed and stood. The world spun a little, his blood count still recovering, but he lumbered across the large master bedroom and towards the hall.

"Master Wayne, I don't know what happened last night," Alfred suddenly said, "but I know that you shouldn't be going anywhere in this state."

Bruce stopped at the doorway, resting against it as he breathed, feeling each and every injury fresh. The couple of broken ribs and the gunshot injury were obvious. Bruises on his back were making his muscles ache, a result of the Joker's rampage with his metal pole combined with falling four floors. There were also probably a few stab wounds somewhere on his torso. His side and leg stung with the feel of being freshly clean, hinting towards large scabs that were probably present—the gravel-burn he'd received after crashing. And lastly his wrist, that was tucked at his side, was thoroughly wrapped. He couldn't remember exactly how he'd broken it; there had been so many ways.

He could feel Alfred's eyes on his bare and bruised back, watching him warily. "I need to…" Bruce began, his already quiet voice drifting off. How could he put what he needed to do into words? He knew Alfred would understand, but he himself almost didn't want to admit it. He'd put so much time and effort into everything for nothing. He had tried to be one of the good people.

Now he had to bury his failure. For her. It's what she wanted.

"If you want to go down to the bunker, I will not allow it, sir."

He pushed himself off the door frame and staggered down the hallway. Alfred sighed behind him as he quickly caught up. He only had to walk alongside his employer for three steps before Bruce's throbbing leg gave way and the butler quickly caught him. "I should know better by now," Alfred muttered under his breath, Bruce still able to easily hear it even in his weakened state as he did his best not to put too much weight on the elder man's shoulders. At that he managed the faint trace of a smile as the pair made their way through the penthouse and to the private elevator hidden behind the wall in one of the spare rooms.

* * *

_**A/N: **Alright, so I put some dates to the Nolan movies, and I'm saying they're right, even if they're not. Starting from last chapter, Joe Chill's hearing was Monday, February 14, 2000. Bruce disappears that day for about seven years, so I'm going to say that brings him back to Gotham in March of 2007. _Batman Begins_ would then occur over the next few months, leaving the attack on the Narrows around late June. That leaves about a year for the events in _Batman: Gotham Knight_ to take place, as well as the estimated time lapse given by both the Joker in _The Dark Knight_ and IMDB's trivia section and the whole GCN section of _TheDark Knight_ DVD special features, before _The Dark Knight_ begins roughly in mid-July 2008 (it gives a pretty decent time frame for Harvey's campaign and election) and lasts a couple of weeks, starting our story again in August. This chapter picks up where the movie left off, starting from Batman trying to get to safety after his night with stopping the Joker from blowing up two ferries full of people and saving Gordon and his family from Harvey Dent, aka Two-Face, with the police chasing him and the serious injuries he sustained._

_For the rest of this part, Nolan's Gotham is based on real cities and locations. Bottom line: Gotham = Chicago. Metropolis = New York. I'll be taking real places from Chicago to be used in Gotham (with my own alterations to make them fit into the story, of course); same thing with Metropolis._


	22. II:III

**Tuesday, August 5, 2008 – 2:27pm – The Polo Lounge; Beverly Hills, California**

Ana idly thumbed her worn out bracelet as she leaned back with her hands in her lap. While nearly all of her attention was on anything else but what was happening now, the two people across from her continued their conversation as if she wasn't even present. It was how it had been all day, and to be quite honest, she could care less. They were discussing business, _her_ business. She was just glad they were preoccupied enough to let her remain silent throughout their conversation.

"So, have you heard about the Gotham attacks?" the agent suddenly asked, abruptly changing topics.

At the change, Ana paused in her chewing, glancing up from her plate eager to hear her manager's response.

Tam, one of the few highly recommended women managers on the west coast, was the third person at the table, and refuted Roger, the UTA agent. "Who hasn't? The stuff that's going on out there is what movies are made out of. Maybe the whole city is still drugged from that incident last year and is collectively hallucinating about clowns and bats."

Roger snickered. Ana frowned. "I think all of that is real," she quietly intervened.

"And why is that?" Roger asked.

She shrugged, glancing from one to the other. "I don't know. It just seems so ridiculous that is has to be true. I mean, for someone to start circulating stories about a guy who dresses up like a bat and for the stories to actually stick, there was to be some truth to them. Besides, _all_ of the Gotham newspapers wouldn't waste so much print on fiction, especially since it is physically impossible for a toxin to remain in the system for that long," she added pointedly toward Tam.

"They do all the time," Roger explained, only to be added to by Tam.

"A joke's a joke, doll. Besides, your job isn't to worry about current events."

Ana still wasn't catching onto the humor. She wasn't in the mood to put on the mask, and both Roger and Tam knew that she had her moments.

That was the downside about this new life she'd somehow woken up in. One day she was in Hilo, working as a full time paramedic with a masters in medicine and the next she's posing for magazine ads in L.A. and one of six stars on a brand new TV show. Apparently she had saved some rich and famous man's life from a bad car accident who had connections in Hollywood, and he turned out to follow up on his vow to help her get out of this 'no-where town'. Ana still wasn't sure if she had made the right decision. But Hilo had, in fact, grown lonely and almost…boring. She had satisfied her desire to have a quiet and happy life. Deep down, she knew she wanted more. Deep down, she knew that someone had once told her she _could_ have more.

Ana suddenly stilled her hands in her lap and stood. "I'm going to use the restroom," she commented quietly, earning a wave of approval from a distracted Tam as she and Roger had moved on from Gotham City and were now discussing future possibilities. It was always the future with these people.

Striding off in her black heels and business attire, she went in a delayed search for the bathroom, buying some time to look around. Even though at times she had to admit she liked this new life, being who she was most of the time was like being cooped up in a swarm of people and events. Even though she did mentally complain about it, she enjoyed acting. Making the switch from modeling as a pretty face to actually doing something fun was easy enough, especially since she had gotten good enough at acting in reality. Pretending to be someone she wasn't was what got her to where she was. Might as well make a career out of something she was already doing.

Passing a couple of waiters, she exchanged friendly smiles while they carried trays full of lunch or glasses full of guessable liquids. Being careful to stay well out of their way, since she had always been a klutz and both money and fame had yet to cure her of that, she circled the restaurant and, finding nothing of notable interest, headed towards the bathroom.

The women's restroom preceded the men's, though was probably just as lavishly decorated. There were two entirely separate rooms; a lobby of sorts with two sofas and a coffee table filled with magazines while one entire wall was covered with a floor to ceiling mirror, and the next contained large, ornament sinks with flowers galore and each toilet stall was nearly its own room. The entire place smelled like a mixture of expensive perfume and roses. She took one glance in the bathroom area to find it empty before flopping down on one of the deep violet sofas and scooping up a magazine. But as soon as she glanced past the cover of the tabloid, her bright eyes found today's headline of the Gotham Gazette gazing up at her beneath the magazines. Shuffling it out from underneath the other books, she glanced over the front page.

'_BATMAN'S RAMPAGE. Masked vigilante conspires with Joker and kills five more in a day of terror.'_

Several pictures filled the front page, making this edition of the newspaper one to go down in history with 9/11 and V-Day. But this day wouldn't be remembered in infamy or anything. There wasn't a hush across the nation like on 9/11. It was just Gotham. Bad things always happened in Gotham.

Ana frowned, leaning back in the sofa while she peered at that odd name. Batman. Maybe he was just some urban legend, made up for all the bad things with no answers to be blamed on. Even though it really was so ridiculous that it could be real, it all still seemed a little too ridiculous for real news.

Suddenly the door swung open and three debutants strolled in, each giggling so obnoxiously that Ana instantly got the urge to leave. She tossed aside the newspaper and stood, causing each of the Gotham elites to cast one long glance towards her. It lasted only a couple of seconds as Ana made her way towards the door they had just strolled in, but it gave them plenty of time for each of them to run their eyes up and down her form at least twice. Was she close enough to their league to be spoken to? Was she dressed appropriately enough? At least it was good to know she wasn't as well recognized as Angelina Jolie.

Not wanting to stay in any enclosed space with three extraordinarily stuck up and judgmental woman, Ana pushed through the restroom door just as one of the debutants who couldn't stop staring decided to speak up. "Wait, do I know you?"

Pretending like she didn't hear, Ana continued out into the open space of the small hall, allowing the door to shut behind her. Taking a deep breath as she leaned against the wall, she concluded that she had to call it a day. Something wasn't right. Her gut had been twisted in knots since she woke up, and though she couldn't remember it, her dream last night helped her unwarranted anxiety. At first, she had figured it was just the sudden wakeup call to audition on the spot without any preparation for this new movie this morning. And once that was over with, she had figured it was just hunger pains.

But now she was out of excuses. Something was wrong.

"Tam, Roger," Ana interrupted when she returned to the table, finally earning both of their full attentions. "I'm gonna run. I've got some errands to run that I was planning to do today before my morning was hijacked."

Tam nodded with an amused smile, clueless as to the real reason why Ana was dashing off. "Of course, Ana. Good job today. I'll call you when I know the results."

Roger also gave her a short farewell, but they were both back to talking within seconds, leaving Ana to gladly sneak off.

* * *

**Tuesday, August 8, 2008 – 3:37pm – Pavillions; Malibu, California**

She hadn't been entirely lying to Tam about running errands. She had yet to stock her new kitchen with more than just left-overs and health bars, and though she had been putting off doing it for as long as possible, she was starting to lose too much energy, a symptom of malnourishment and one she knew all too well. Going into a new movie and a new season of _Buddies_, she had to keep her energy up or else she'd start forgetting lines, losing too much weight, or getting too moody to function properly.

And if the abrupt phone call from Tam this morning hadn't woke her up, she would've tried to sleep it until at least ten; spent a couple of hours lounging in the pool, reading one of the many books she owned; taken a nice, long, and hot shower; and gotten all dolled up, simply just because she felt like it, to go to the store.

Unfortunately, things hadn't gone as planned.

Abandoning her audition clothes in the car in favor of a more comfortable outfit, with her nifty Dodgercap that always kept her errand running on the "down low" included, she strolled into the grocery store, attached to a shopping cart, to begin her aisle to aisle hunt for food.

It took her about an hour, but finally she was eyeing her half full shopping cart, debating if she needed more, while slowly approaching the checkouts. She could always come back—it wasn't like she was going to be stranded by some nuclear winter in her home.

The three available lines were evenly long, the sudden rush of Malibu stay-at-home mothers completing their shopping after picking up—or dropping off—their children at daycare, or the modest group of the rich and elderly finishing some last minute shopping before the rush hour rush hit the small store. Ana opted for the checkout with her lucky number and pushed her cart to a stop a small distance behind the debutant mom in front of her.

As per usual, her eyes immediately went for the tabloids. Even though she held no tolerance for them, and she trusted them even less, it was hard to resist seeing familiar faces staring back at her. It was like looking at personal photographs, and it got especially weird on the seldom occasion that her face stared back at her. This week's were the usual: Jessica Simpson and Tony Romo, Miley Cyrus' latest scandal, and continently her own face splattered across the fake headline claiming her new single pride stance. Truthfully, she had no idea where they came up with the ridiculous ideas. Her dating life was about as exciting and action packed as the movie _Gerry_, and being single was nothing new to her.

Unfortunately, being the covers of _Star_ and _People_ was also nothing new to her.

The _Enquirer_, however, drifted from the other faces towards a wrecked Lamborghini splashed on its cover. It was hard to miss the bolded letters over the wreckage: _Bruce Wayne._

_Jesus Christ_. She snatched the paper and desperately tore to the article, the sudden movements surprising the woman in front of her. Eagerly she skimmed the words in search for the details that managed to slow her racing heart rate. He wasn't dead—hadn't even gone to the hospital.

Feeling the mom's curious eyes on her, she glanced up shyly before quickly folding back up the trash paper and setting it back where it belonged, slightly embarrassed by her own sudden reaction. He was just another guy, another celebrity who got caught on the bad end of a camera and a gossip story. She knew that story all too well. She really shouldn't put much thought into it. At all.

She was still trying to convince herself of that fact even after she finished loading her groceries in her car and began her drive home.


	23. II:IV

**Tuesday, August 5, 2008 – 2:27am – 1480 E Russ Way, Apartment 91; Gotham City, New Jersey**

The news quietly continued on about the evening's terror behind him, repeating its top story every half hour on the dot. The room was a disaster—or as much of a disaster it could be with the small amount of possessions that he owned. Clothes were scattered with crumbled up balls of paper peeking out from underneath shirts. The kitchen of the tiny studio was bad enough to have a nastier-than-normal smell emitting from the clogged sink, the overflowing trash can, or the dozens of left-over boxes and plastic wrappers that cluttered the counter space. And for the eight months he'd been back in Gotham, he still had yet to fully unpack. Piles of books lined one of the walls messily, waiting for a bookcase to house them. Between some of the worn novels and textbooks were loose pieces of paper, ranging from his thesis notes to his college degree certificates—bachelor's, master's, PhD's, and the additional _summa cum lade_ honors mixed in. Applications of various forms were in a messy pile on top of the nearest stack, with the Wayne Enterprises recognizable logo on top. In front of him, however, was where his focus was—on the wall cluttered from floor to ceiling with newspaper clippings, printed out pictures and articles. He stood stubbornly in front of it, his shadow cast tall on the wall, not caring about whatever might be under his feet.

He had narrowed down his suspects, determined to figure out who exactly _he_ was tonight. After tonight, everything would change. If the Batman wasn't dead, there was little chance he'd be showing his face again for a while.

The clues would end.

The Batman was rich, or had a rich beneficiary. That narrowed it down to the high class of Gotham and their closest friends.

The Batman was intelligent, well learned. A college degree probably existed in the man's background. Or at least outstanding grades in school—if the man even went.

The Batman was well learned in martial arts. He either took extensive lessons for all of his life or endured a crash course over a matter of years.

The Batman was over six foot, well built, and a younger man. For all the training required, he must be someone extremely fit and in their thirties.

Harvey Dent had been a very viable candidate—until the press conference incident a couple of days before. Other candidates such as Pierce Litman and Ben Adams were married or spent way too much time at their offices—at all hours of the day.

Ultimately his wall left him with one face, a face he was currently drawing a dark cowl over.

The man had disappeared for seven years. It was rumored that he was on a yacht in the Mediterranean, but the truth was he could've been anywhere. He was tall, handsome, about to turn 32, and a very eligible bachelor who tended to oversleep his business meetings and stroll into the office around 3 in the afternoon. He had no bachelor's degree, but his grades while he jumped colleges proved him intelligent enough. And he was Gotham's Prince, one of the richest men in the world.

And recent events only further confirmed it. He was in the Pacific entertaining a Russian ballet troupe when Batman kidnapped Lau from Hong Kong. Both he and Harvey Dent went missing at the crashed fundraiser last week. He was present at an 8am press conference to reveal Batman's identity. He wrecked his Lamborghini protecting Coleman Reese. And Reese himself knew who the Batman was—a discovery he made while working at Wayne Enterprises.

Edward sat back, admiring the dark Sharpie that engulfed the playboy's printed face, leaving only his eyes and strong chin. The puzzle pieces fit. It all made sense. The answer to the greatest riddle of them all.

_Riddle me this, riddle me that, who exactly i_s _the big, bad Bat?_

* * *

**Tuesday, August 5, 2008 – 9:10am – Wayne Tower; Gotham City, New Jersey**

"Hello, I'm here to see Mr. Reese."

The lovely secretary didn't even bother to glance up, "All statements from Mr. Reese about yesterday's events have already been released—"

"I'm not a reporter," Edward stated, finally earning her attention.

She glanced up, did a double take, and instantly the computer in front of her lost her full attention. "Do you have an appointment with him?"

"No, but my name is Edward Nashton. We're both at the same law firm and I have an urgent—and private matter to discuss with him," he lied with a serious smile.

Now concern clouded her face. "I do apologize, however he's not supposed to be in today—"

"However he _is_ actually here, so I do need to _actually_ see him," he finished for her, leaning menacingly over her desk for emphasis. He'd seen the weasel stroll right in hardly fifteen minutes prior, there was no hiding from him.

The secretary offered an unsure smile as she hesitantly reached for her phone located right where Edward was leaning over, his sudden intrusion not only making her nervous but if he was who he said he was, he was important enough to be seen. "Just a moment, Mr. Nashton."

Satisfied, he straightened out and eavesdropped on the conversation over the phone.

"Yes, Mr. Fox? I have a guest here for Mr. Reese… Yes, I know, but he says it's urgent." Ah, so the cover up that Reese _wasn't_ here wasn't due to the woman's poor observational skills, it was due to an architect. CEO Lucius Fox was in on the Batman scheme and was covering up Wayne's tracks—well he would have to be for Wayne to burn through his carefully watched trust-fund like it was firewood. Hell, probably most of the fancy equipment the Batman used came from this very building.

"Yes, of course," the woman finished her conversation and gently set down the phone back in its place. "Mr. Reese is currently in a meeting, he'll be out in a moment. You're welcome to take a seat." She eyed him for a moment while Edward gladly remained standing before returning to her work.

Barely a few minutes passed before Edward wanted to further test his theory—he simply couldn't help it, and the waiting wasn't helping matters. "Miss…?"

"Henderson. Jessica Henderson," she replied smoothly, just barely glancing up from her typing.

"Jessica," Edward expertly released, earning her full attention. "I was curious if Mr. Wayne was in today as well."

At this her expression faltered, her typing halted. "I apologize, but you are here to see Mr. Reese and not Mr. Wayne, correct?" She was well hired.

"Yes, however it is the lingering details of the LSI Holdings deal that I am here to discuss with my associate and if Mr. Wayne is present, it would prevent both Mr. Reese and myself to have another meeting with him. After all, I'm sure he is a _very _busy man." Cake walk.

Hesitation, but finally, as her attention returned to the computer before her, "Mr. Wayne is not expected in today, but Mr. Fox is more involved with the LSI Holdings deal if you'd like to speak with him."

Edward grinned gleefully, unable to contain himself. "I suppose Mr. Fox will do," he managed to mutter nonchalantly before throwing in a thank you—he was far too excited to keep up the boring lawyer act. He didn't even care about her staring at him—swooning, if you may, at the sudden smile he expressed. Well, half swooning, half wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

When Reese finally, and very hesitantly, opened the doors to the lobby, it took everything in Edward not to jump up and demand the answers from him right then and there. It also took more than everything to deadpan instead of glare at Fox who emerged right behind him, acting as the weasel's personal bodyguard.

"Uh…w-who are you?" Reese nearly squeaked, trying too hard to keep his composure and very clearly still nervous of strangers after yesterday. It was a miracle the man even made it out of the house today—unless he figured his house might be targeted, too.

_What is it that in order to possess it you must first let it possess you and in order to conquer it you must first set it free?_

"I'm Edward, Coleman. From the firm? I've been sent here to discuss some lingering details regarding that LSI Holdings merger," Edward said directly and extra convincingly to Reese.

"That merger has been put on hold, Mr. …?" Fox dared to interrupt.

"Nashton. And I understand that, which is why I'm here. Now if you'll excuse us," he finally stated, taking control and approaching the timid mouse next to Fox, "We need to discuss this privately."

Fox was smart—hell, he could probably actually keep up in a full intellectual conversation with Edward himself—and wasn't buying it. "I hope you can make this quick, Mr. Nashton. Mr. Reese and I were in the middle of some paperwork."

Paperwork? The LSI Holdings deal _was_ finished. There was no paperwork left to be done. Unless—of course. Fox was keeping Reese close since he knew the company secret. Reese was probably filling out _permanent employee paperwork._ Hm. Maybe they'd finally get around to hiring Edward now that he, too, knew the big secret.

"Oh, it should be," Edward replied casually, leading Reese toward the elevator. "Of course that depends entirely on Mr. Reese" he finished under his breath.

"Mr., uh, Nashton? It is Nashton, right-?" Reese managed while they waited for the elevator.

"Yes," Edward snapped just as the doors slid open to reveal the empty, open compartment.

Slightly thrown, Reese shot a glance back at Fox, who was watching them a little too carefully for Edward's comfort. At least he wasn't planning on killing the weasel or anything; he just wanted a little information. "I'm afraid I don't—" Finally the elevator doors slid shut, and as soon as the compartment managed to drop a couple of feet, Edward lashed out and hit the emergency stop button before withdrawing his collapsible cane from the inside of his jacket, snapping it to its full length with a flick of his wrist, and smashing the tiny camera and mic bulb with it—all within mere seconds.

Reese had barely gotten a sound out before the cane was suddenly pinning him against the wall, the wood pressing into his neck. "Who-?" he whispered, his frozen Adams apple unable to utter much else.

"I have a riddle for you, Coleman. One that I'm sure you know the answer to." Edward paused, locking eyes with the quivering man. He could only imagine the therapy Reese was about to gladly endure over the next twenty years for this week's events—all of which, of course, would be paid for by Wayne Enterprises. "Who is Batman?"

Reese opened his mouth to speak, but a different voice filled the small and shiny compartment. "Is everyone okay in there? If you can, pick up the phone. We have help on the way."

Edward snarled. He knew that he wouldn't have long, but the seconds were ticking by a little too quickly for him.

_This thing all things devours; birds, beasts, trees, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays kings, ruins towns, and beats the high mountain down._

"Reese," Edward calmly demanded, causing the hope in Reese's eyes to dwindle down as he glanced away from the speaker. "I would hate for their efforts to reach you so quickly all be for nothing."

"Ican'tsay-!" the smaller man yelped, wincing as the cane pressed harder in frustration. "You don't understand! I—I owe him! A-And he could—"

"Yes, yes. I know how he saved your life by wrecking his Lamborghini," Edward interrupted, his free fingers rubbing his brow in annoyance.

Reese's hazel eyes widened. "But—"

"Just give me a name, Coleman," the taller man whispered, leaning in close. "A simple name."

"W-Wayne—M-Mr. W-Wa—"

His cane suddenly released Reese, allowing the poor man to gasp for air while he rubbed his aching throat. Instead, two hands forced the stick between the elevator doors and one strong push forced them open. Just a couple feet above him, he could hear Fox's deep, distinct voice through the upper floor's shut doors. "How long until they get here, Jessica?" Her shouting in reply was too muffled, too far away to hear. Not to mention Edward was busy prying open the floor below's doors the same way.

"You know," Edward commented thoughtfully over his shoulder as he knelt down, ready to hop down the couple of feet to the floor below. "Your name sounds like 'mysteries.' I rather like that alias." By the time Reese stopped coughing hard enough to stand up straight, Edward was already strolling down the hallway towards the other set of elevators on the other side of the building, retracting his cane and replacing it within his jacket without missing a step or losing his wide grin.

_Why did the weasel cross the road twice?_

Edward was still gleeful when he strolled right out the front, revolving doors of Wayne Tower. Security was probably just now getting word from their counterparts dozens of floors above them of a description of a young and dangerous man. The thought made him smile all the more.

Screw the PhD's, screw all the pointless riddles stuck in his head—he had figured out who the Batman was. He was the smartest man in the world—

"Get in."

The deep voice startled Edward and his heart even skipped a beat when he glanced to the source to find a sleek town car stopped along the curb next to him. It was impossible. Wayne was too busy recovering—The man's hair was auburn, not brunette. And even with the pointless sunglasses on a cloudy day obscuring his eyes, that certainly was not the playboy that the tabloids gushed on and on about. But he did kinda look like Gotham's Prince. Kinda.

"My mother always told me not to accept rides from strangers," Edward joked. But his smile faded when the muzzle of a very prestigious hand gun as pointed at him from just over the edge of the window.

"You'll soon find out we're far from strangers," Thomas Elliot smiled as Edward Nygma slid into the car.

* * *

_**A/N:** Answers to the riddles:_

_Bruce Wayne (snicker)_

_Fear_

_Time_

_He was a double crosser._


	24. II:V

**Monday, August 3, 2009 – 10:05am – Gotham City Courthouse; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Ana yawned as she strolled down the alleyway that traveled the side of the ancient courthouse with only her travel coffee mug filled with orange juice in hand. She was ten minutes early, which meant she was five minutes late. Not like she cared—the excuse of being in a new city would suffice for the tardiness, even though she was already good at navigating a large chunk of the south island. The extra five minutes of sleep was far more important after crawling into bed around four. First night in the city and she was dashed from one place to the next—dinner, her movie premier, and party hopping the various after parties. Even though she was still a night owl and had no problem staying up till dawn, it was waking up at nine the next morning that had her irritated.

As soon as she reached the front, she still found herself startled at the sudden scene in front of her. The entire street was blocked off, which was why she had just planned on walking from her hotel a mere ten city blocks away, and the courthouse stairs were crawling with people and equipment. A few people in the buildings across the river were standing in their windows, watching, and a small crowd had formed at the tiny park next to the bridge.

She'd been in movies before, but nothing like _this_. LA was used to movies filming on location, so the general population usually never made a scene. Not to mention Ana spent most of her time acting on movie lots and in warehouses. This was…huge. And it wasn't only present here. Discussing all the technical details—like how much she was being paid, which was an insane amount—had informed her of how large-scale this movie was. It was, indeed, a summer blockbuster.

Maybe it was all because it was only day two of filming. Surely things would calm down a bit as time went on—or she would just get used to it.

"Ana! There you are!" Tam appeared out of nowhere, snatching Ana's arm, and dragging her towards one of the RVs parked along the street. Ana almost forgot that she'd be here, at least for the first week anyway. "You're late."

Ana tried to take a swig of her orange juice, but gave up due to their fast pace. "I got—"

"But at least you're here. Eckhart isn't yet, and Chris is already prepping the camera and lighting crews for your scenes." Tam stopped suddenly, just short of the open RV door. "You looked over the script, right?"

Ana nodded once she finally got a swig of her juice. "Of course. What else would I have done on a six hour flight-?"

Tam pulled her into the RV and left her in the eager care of the makeup, hair, and costume artists. The makeup and hair artists quickly pulled her towards the bright vanity and instantly went to work, leaving Ana not allowed to move while she blindly tried to set her mug down. The costume artist grabbed it when she stopped at Ana's side, however, holding a charcoal, pinstripe lady's business suit. She did a quick once over before nodding in her own silent confirmation and returning to hang the outfit back up. "Would you two hurry up?"

The two women hovering around Ana both stopped momentarily to glare at the other. "I'd like to see you do it better," the hair stylist dared as she returned to pulling Ana's hair back into a fancy, low, and loose bun.

Ana glanced between the three via the vanity mirrors and opened her mouth to speak, but the makeup artist silenced her by using the opportunity to apply a neutral shade of lipstick. "Formalities later, hon," she smiled. "Right now we need to show Chris and Edward that you can be fast."

"And unless you want her to still be changing when Aaron gets here, I recommend you two hurry up," the costume director commented, already working Ana's jacket off without managing to get in the other two women's ways.

Barely five minutes later, Ana was examining herself in the vanity with all three women, Deborah, Kim, and Lindy, looking over her shoulders to approve of her work. Once they were satisfied, they each started on reorganizing and preparing for Aaron, leaving Ana to finished admiring their work by herself. And Ana agreed with their satisfaction—they were good. But out of habit, she rubbed the spot where her bracelet should have been. It always subtly bothered her when she had to take it off for roles, just because she was so used to it being there.

As Deborah got to Ana's nearly empty travel mug while she was wiping down the vanity ledge, she scooped it up and handed it to the actress, startling her from her staring. "There isn't much room around here with the measly street we got, but there's some breakfast and coffee in the van at the end of the street. Just don't mess anything up."

Ana smiled as she took her mug back. "Thanks. Where are-?"

"Don't worry about it, hon," the older woman replied without missing a beat. "Lindy hangs them up for you and they'll still be here when you get to leave."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Ana headed towards the open door.

Deborah paused, eying Ana. "This is your first blockbuster, 'aint it?"

Shedding a half sleepy, half bashful smile, the actress nodded.

"Once this first week's outta the way, you'll find it's not much different from your show. It's just a lot more slowly paced and repetitive, and has a lot more set changes."

"Thanks, Deborah," Ana replied.

"Now go find yourself some breakfast. You still look half asleep."

Wandering to the van containing the food was like walking through a state fair. Some people rushed around with very important errands, others were still busy moving equipment, and still others were standing around chatting. The set wasn't anything special to gawk at, though. According to the script, they were just doing a few scenes of the front and lobby of the courthouse. With how little the courthouse actually was in the script, Ana wouldn't be surprised if she got the afternoon off.

When she finally did reach the little van filled with everything the average concession stand needed—minus the large amounts of candy for the kids—she got an apple to munch on and another orange juice to refill her travel mug. Nothing like fresh fruit to wake her up.

When she opened her mug to pour the fresh juice in it, however, the man relaxing in the van did a double take. "No coffee? You've gotta be the first one I've met here who doesn't down it by the gallon."

"It's an expensive habit," she replied with, not wanting to go through her whole spiel about how she had never likes coffee or energy drinks.

He laughed heartily, "Now that's a new one. What's your name, Pennysaver?"

She smiled, partly because of his laugh and partly because he _didn't_ instantly recognize her. "Ana Williams."

"Williams? So you're that actress everyone's been talking about. How do you like Gotham?"

Ana shrugged as she retightened the lid on her mug, "It's nice. I haven't really gotten a good chance to really see all of it yet—"

"We'll have to remedy that, then," another, deeper voice said from behind her. She glanced around to find the voice belonging to a handsome younger man, who only looked to be a couple of years younger than her. His emerald eyes peeked out from beneath long, dirty blonde bangs as they met her own eyes, and he smiled as they made eye contact. "Edward Reese. I've been looking forward to meeting you, Ana."

He offered his hand, and Ana took it with a bashful smile, "I wish I could say the same."

"Not to worry. With Chris running around doing everything for this movie, he _is_ really the only name to know. I, however, am his right hand man and help him be Superman," he stated with that slight English accent of his, waving his hand while offering a small bow. "Introductions aside, I'm here to help you back towards set. Aaron's almost ready."

She nodded, allowing him to lead her back through the thinned crowd.

"A general rule of Gotham, though," Edward suddenly said as they weaved, catching her off guard, "is to never wander it alone. Always remember that."

"Huh?" Ana blurted.

"In reference to your earlier conversation. Gotham is a very…elaborate city. Just don't try to explore it all alone."

Oh yes. A blip of a memory returned to her as she continued to follow the taller man who had resumed speaking into the headset he wore. Gotham City had the highest crime rate in the States; she had learned that years ago. Even with Batman—she suddenly stopped. The full effect of this movie was finally hitting her. This wasn't just some fictional movie or TV show, it wasn't just a story that someone wrote. It was real. Real people had died—including her character. Real people were still currently involved with this storyline.

And they were about to reenact it as fiction.

"Edward, how does-?"

"There she is!" Tam interrupted as soon as she caught sight of the pair. "Even in as small of a space as we have, leave it to Ana to find a way to turn invisible."

Ana frowned. Though she did love that ability she possessed, it wasn't exactly a promising trait for an actress, and Tam didn't need to tell the world. "I didn't—"

"Now, Chris wants you by that taxi right away. As soon as Eckhart's ready, he's starting, so no time to dawdle."

Allowing herself to be dragged along by her agent, she cast a glance back at Edward who was watching her with an amused gleam in his emerald eyes.

* * *

**Monday, August 3, 2009 – 7:28pm – City Hall; Gotham City, New Jersey**

The street was crazy clogged, but yet there was still enough order for their town car to pull up and let them out into the mess of people. Ana blended right in with her dark cashmere coat hiding her plain black dress underneath. Edward, who slid out right after her, was dressed in a normal suit with no extra jacket as if the brisk breeze were a summer heat. He offered his arm for her, but she ignored it as she pointed towards the entrance at the top of the stone stairs covered with people.

"Are we supposed to get up there?" she practically shouted.

He nodded, giving her the cue to start weaving through people.

As if she hadn't been out and about enough the night before, Edward had offered to show her some of the city, starting with the Second Annual Dent Day Memorial. At the time it had seemed like a great idea, but now that she thought about it as she moved effortlessly through the milling crowd with Edward trailing behind her, she wasn't supposed to be here. She didn't know anything about Harvey Dent or what he did. Yes, she heard about what happened to him and that whole Batman mess, but her main interest in that stemmed from one day at the supermarket when she saw a certain tabloid with a certain name on it. Not to mention she was here to play a part in making a movie about these events. The same morals that were tugging at her conscious when she first arrived on set in the morning where bothering her even more so now.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, a few girls on the street below squealed, earning the attention of everyone around them. Without bothering to look, Ana used the advantage to move through the last couple of distracted and still groups of people to slide inside the wide open doors of the massive modern hall.

The noise level inside was considerably less, and Ana stopped them just before the security checkpoint. "Edward, should we even be here?"

He looked confused. "Why not? It's a holiday event."

"You know what I mean. We're making a movie about this man. I feel like I'm intruding here."

He shook his head, stepping closer, "Think of it as research. You're learning about the impact that Harvey had on this city. That's something you need to know."

"But I can find out about it through newspapers and books, not through this."

"Ana, in the day that I've known you, seen you work, you've been spectacular at acting and reading people. You've got a gift. And I know that with that gift comes the ability to tune out what normal people think and do. Because, let's face it Ana, we're not normal people. Normal people don't have the ability to impersonate others without a second thought." She still looked hesitant. "Look, you majored in some science field, right?" She looked at him, impressed. "Just imagine that this is an experiment. You're doing research. Use that observational attitude that they taught you."

"Observational attitude?"

"Out of all of that, that's what stuck?"

She shrugged with a small smile. "I understand what you're trying to tell me, and I'll play along for now. But can we not stay long? I stayed up late last night and I'd love to see more of this city than just its government buildings."

He bought her excuse and agreed with a nod.

The event was a big ceremony. By eight o'clock, all the people on the street had been reeled inside and the speeches began. Colleagues, friends, people who didn't even know him. The mayor led the speeches and the police commissioner finished them. At the end of it all, the buffets and wine were unleashed and the cocktail hour pursued.

Now that Ana had sat through all of that, she wanted to get out of there before someone decided to casually ask her why she was there—or worse, recognized her. But, of course, as she was looking for Edward, who she had separated from before the speeches even began, someone touched her arm to gain her attention. However, as she turned, instead of finding some young girl or guy star struck, she was face to face with an older women.

"You look familiar," she abruptly said, her sharp blue eyes examining Ana.

Out of everyone here, she was recognized by an old woman? Surprising, but at least she knew she could vacation on the east coast without crazy fans proving a problem. Smiling, she decided to help her out, "I'm on a TV show—"

"I don't watch TV, darling. And you're here, which means you probably have never been to my clinic. But I swear I've seen you before. I never forget a face."

Ana blinked at the interruption. And then she processed what the woman had said. "Clinic?"

"Well if I can't remember you, I might as well re-introduce myself. I am Dr. Thompkins. I run a free medical clinic in the East Side." She had an air of authority about her as she presented herself, but it wasn't as if she stuck her nose in the air. No, she was more down to earth, as if she didn't plan on wasting any moment of her life with nonsense. That kind of authority.

"A free medical clinic?" Ana questioned, stunned. "Impossible. Heath insurance rates and government rules won't allow it."

Dr. Thompkins raised her brow at the younger woman. "I assure you it's not impossible. Anything is possible if you fight for it enough."

"I used to be in medicine, and with how many people we helped that didn't have any insurance…it was as if we weren't helping them at all. How?"

At the explanation, the doctor's gaze turned from condescending to polite with a surprising smile. "What type of medicine did you _used_ to be in? And why, for heaven's sake, are you not _still_?"

At the question, Ana faltered. She missed her old job from time to time, just as much as she missed her old life. But she had never been blatantly asked why she still didn't do it. It was assumed by most people that being a successful actress was a far better career choice. There were no questions asked. "I…moved. I got a different job—"

"And you're not happy with it."

"Now hold on," Ana started, putting her thoughts into words without thinking. "I never said I wasn't happy. It's just…different. I still help people when I can—"

"When was the last time you helped someone? Genuinely helped someone?"

Ana faltered, drawing a blank. She moved to LA in 2003. If she meant medical help, that was it.

As she hesitated, Dr. Thompkins removed a card from her wristlet and handed it to Ana. "Stop by this address before the end of the week, at any hour." And with that, she dismissed herself from the conversation.

Was that what the Gotham high life was about? She seemed like some crazy old lady on a power trip.

"Who was that?" Edward asked, suddenly appearing at her side.

"Some crazy old lady."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Regarding Eddie—the face I'm thinking of is today's Zac Efron, but the voice is more Johnny Depp's Jack Sparrow. Since it's still early in Batman's career, the Riddler is young and just starting out. Imagine if he's this smart just out of grad school how intelligent (and crazy) he gets throughout the years with Batman. And as for the voice—well ever since there was that rumor that Johnny was going to be the new Riddler, it's been stuck in my brain. And that quick paced, English-ish drawl seems almost perfect for a know-it-all genius. Make him sound a little drunk, too, and it makes it even more ironic._

_Again, I have no idea what an average day in the A-lister acting world is like. I'm just wingin' it here. But if anyone out there would like to _show_ me what it's like, this starving actress is all for it._


	25. II:VI

**Monday, August 3, 2009 – 10:05am – Gotham Cemetery; Gotham City, New Jersey**

He didn't bring any flowers. He'd never given her any before, why start now. Instead he stood there awkwardly, hands deep in his pockets, hovering over her grave like some lost little kid.

A year later, and he still couldn't believe it. He still couldn't get over it.

She was his future.

The sun heated his back as it warmed the cemetery. The nights were cold and the days were hot, leaving the summer a muggy mess. The grass he stood on was mud underneath from the sprinklers and melted dew. It made his feet sink more the longer he stood there, as if the weight on his shoulders was pressing him further into the ground.

His dark eyes darted away finally, unable to read the text on the tombstone anymore.

Today was going to be a long day. He was still debating if he wanted to even bother going to City Hall for Harvey's memorial.

Maybe he could just sit here all day today. No one would come to visit, not with the holiday. Rachel's friends were Harvey's friends, too. And her mother was in a home, last he knew.

Maybe he could just hide here.

The wind picked up suddenly, ruffling his mussed hair and making the bangs fall into his eyes.

_Point taken._

Withdrawing his hand to brush the hair from his brow, he paused before replacing it again. Instead he leaned forward and put the hand on the warm stone surface.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, knowing he couldn't say it enough times. She was the most important thing in his life, and he failed her. He failed her when he had the means and ability to save her. That's what made it worst of all.

Retrieving his hand, he shoved it roughly back in his pocket before turning away.

Time to face Dent Day.

* * *

**Monday, August 3, 2009 – 7:28pm – City Hall; Gotham City, New Jersey**

He sat at the red light, staring at the overrun City Hall in front of him. It was lit up, and covered with moving figures, like a swarm of ants reacting to the sudden light.

It was a lot of people. People he didn't want to deal with.

Couldn't he become the crazy old man who lives in the old manor? The old recluse who becomes as forgotten as everything else in this city?

Doing nothing did seem so tempting, especially since the taste he got over the past ten months was still rich. He still seemed to ache all over from that night a year ago, no matter how much rest he got. And remembering only made his scars throb.

The light turned green and he rolled through the intersection towards stream of cars unloading their passengers. When he pulled up, he winced when he heard the squeals through the windows. They shouldn't be for him, he was getting too old for this.

As he emerged from the driver's side, lights flashed at him, making his last thought moot. He heard his name shouted from all directions alongside the questions that were flung at him, and for a moment, nearly all eyes were on him until most looked away, used to the Prince of Gotham getting more attention than he deserved. Drowning it out, he found the valet and handed him the keys to the Lamborghini before forcing through the crowd towards the entrance. Just because he had to be here didn't mean he had to play nice. There was no need to hide his identity anymore.

_Bruce, slow down._

He stopped suddenly, spinning around to confront the voice he thought he heard. But behind him were just a couple of desperate reporters who looked surprised at his sudden stop. His mind was playing tricks on him. He wanted her to be there, popping out of the crowd to pull him off to the side and demand he stop his silly crusade. He wanted her to be there.

"Bruce!" He had paused for too long. Mrs. Delane had now locked onto him as was only mere steps away. A rich widow, and one of Gotham's more charitable elites, she was dressed in a full length ocean blue gown, with sleeves this time. The last time he had seen her had been only minutes before his manor had been burned to the ground. But Bruce was only slightly surprised that she was far from wary with him, unlike the rest of Gotham's citizens. It would take a lot more than a burnt down mansion with only implied causes to make her stop talking to the son of Martha and Thomas Wayne. A sweet old lady, and one he couldn't bear to take his bad mood out on. "Brucie, welcome back. I'm so delighted that you could make it."

The act she was putting on was almost as if she were putting on the party. "Mrs. Delane, no need to be the hostess—"

"The Wayne Foundation did such a wonderful job," she interrupted, waving her hand to shush him. "With the help of the GCPD, we organized all of this."

"We?" He was stunned. Mrs. Delane had always seemed to be close to his family, attending every function and speaking to Bruce at every one she could, no matter how shunned he was at the time.

"Oh yes, Mr. Fox, Dr. Thompkins, and I. What a wonderful team effort it was. And look how splendidly it turned out." She just beamed with pride without Bruce even needing to compliment her work.

"It is quite an event," he commented.

"A city-wide holiday, up there with Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and Columbus Day. We made it official. The first Monday of every August is now Dent Day, to remember him and all that he did for us."

_All that he did for us_. Bruce kept his mouth shut, but his thoughts raced. Harvey had been a loose cannon hanging on by a thread. He had refused to see it, so desperate to be with Rachel, to be rid of Batman. The incident with Thomas Shift should have been proof enough for him, but instead he allowed the Joker to push him too far, to trigger him. Looking back, he wasn't surprised that Harvey went after Wertz and Ramirez, and anyone that got in his way. He wasn't surprised that Harvey was ready to die to avenge Rachel.

"Bruce, is everything alright?" Mrs. Delane asked, pulling him from his thoughts. Even in a chaotic mess such as the scene he was currently standing in the middle of, he could get lost in the past.

He nodded quickly, changing the subject. "You said that Mr. Fox and Dr. Thompkins helped you. Are they here?"

"Oh, they most certainly should be. But you know how those two are, always wrapped up in their work. I believe both of them said that they would try to make it."

Leave it to Fox to find a way to squeeze out of something like this. But unless Leslie truly was busy, she should be here. "Thank you, Mrs. Delane. I think I'll go look for them, in case they did decide to show up."

"Oh, of course dear. But be careful, now that you're back in town, I heard that there are a number of young women who are hunting for you. Maybe one of these days you'll actually settle down, Bruce."

His timing was off tonight. He was staying too long and getting caught where he didn't want to be. "Maybe, Mrs. Delane. It was a pleasure seeing you."

"As always, Brucie, you too," she trailed after him as he slipped between people to move up the steps and towards the entrance.

* * *

**Tuesday, August 4, 2009 – 6:36pm – European Crystal; Gotham City, New Jersey**

_"Perhaps if you tried to enjoy yourself, Master Wayne, you might find that you could possibly enjoy social events." _

Bruce remembered fondly as he stared out the window of the backseat of the Rolls, Alfred in the driver's seat and Laetita Casta, a French supermodel, seated next to him. If either of them noticed his mood, they made no hint of it and allowed him to continue to glare at the sidewalks that had barely been touched by twilight as they sped by. Instead he was allowed to reminisce a memory from the first public event he had attended after the Ra's terrorist attack: the relocation of the central offices of Wayne Tower.

_"Batman is required to be skilled at all elements, is he not?" Alfred had prodded again while he finished adjusting Bruce's tie._

_"Batman _didn't_ socialize with criminals," Bruce muttered in response. Alfred had been poking and prodding gently about Batman for the past month. They both knew that the butler preferred the current condition of the cape and cowl: that it remained locked away, collecting dust. But Alfred was worried about Bruce, and the younger man knew the exact reason and, what's more, that it was very valid._

_Besides all the talk of Batman, Bruce had found plenty of other things to do—such as helping Lucius in the subbasement, which was where he was before he was abducted by Alfred._

_"All the more reason for Bruce Wayne _to_ socialize, sir. One early evening of entertainment will not kill you."_

_Bruce frowned. How many people had thought the same thing and ended up dead?_

Alfred pulled the Rolls to a stop at the slowly darkening curb in front of the large banquet hall. One of the valets who was standing in front of a large red carpet, surrounded on both sides by a mob of people, reached to promptly open the backseat door. Bruce stepped out first, allowing himself to be blinded by the flash of cameras before turning to help Laetita out. Even in her four inch heels and very short, very tight violet dress, she still managed to emerge from the Rolls gracefully. Arm in arm, they strolled down the red carpet, following another couple nearly ten feet in front of them, while cameras continued to flash. Putting on a fake smile was easy enough, but his desire to be there was quickly diminishing by the minute.

The carpet continued straight into the theatre through propped open doors. This room seemed to be the foray more than the lobby, as the carpet was still lined with people, but no longer roped off. There were also less photographers, and more of these people milling around were dressed in suits and dinner dresses rather than street clothes. Another few yards and the carpet suddenly spread across the entire room, revealing the lobby. It, too, was filled, but only a couple of lucky photographers milled around with the upper class citizens as they all hovered around the bar.

As soon as they strolled in, the hostess made eye contact with him and smiled as she stepped out from behind her podium, ready to lead them to their table.

"Bruce!" The young billionaire's eyes wandered to find Mrs. Delane headed straight for him. Twice in one week, that had to be a record. "So glad you could make it! I hope your trip to Europe was enjoyable!"

Both Laetita and Bruce flashed matching smiles as Mrs. Delane stopped in front of them. "My only wish was that the trip was longer," he said as his eyes naturally wandered the room behind the elder woman before returning to her.

She got solemn all of a sudden, remembering why—according to the rumors, at least—Bruce was in Europe in the first place. "Yes, of course. But things will get better, dear. Your grief will soon turn to memory."

It was one of the most sentimental things he had ever heard come out of the elder debutante's mouth, and it surprised him. But it also darkened his mood, the reminder that she laid out in the open. Over the past year, he had spent the least amount of time as possible thinking about _her_. Grieving got him nowhere, as he quickly learned when he was eight years old. And the last thing Rachel would want him to do was grieve for her.

"I hear that the cast of that fabulous new movie is going to be here tonight," she continued earnestly, eager to break the uncomfortable silence she had created. Though she was as harmless as a stuffed teddy bear, she was the woman who knew everyone and everything about everything. Well, almost everything.

"Cast? Mrs. Delane, this isn't—"

"Bruce! You haven't heard? They're making a movie about Gotham City," she loudly whispered, trying to be discrete but failing miserably.

"Really?" he prodded, trying not to sound uninterested as his eyes scanned the room again. This time Laetita noticed and her eyes remained on him until he noticed her. Once their eyes met, her eyebrows rose and he just flashed an innocent grin while Mrs. Delane continued.

"Really! I hear it's supposed to be about our very own masked vigilante." At this, his attention was finally fully drawn. "That's why they're here tonight, out of respect for Harvey Dent Day. I hear that they were at City Hall yesterday as well."

As his eyes rested on the elder woman, he did his best to keep his expression light, amused. Most of Gotham thought Batman was an urban legend, even after the Joker's week from hell. Especially Gotham's elite…save for those at Harvey Dent's fundraiser. But Mrs. Delane wasn't there that night. Did she really believe in it, or was it just something to know? Something that was now about to be important to know?

"That's…interesting." Bruce carefully remarked. No matter what Mrs. Delane thought, there was still the problem of Hollywood creating a movie about Batman. Anything for a profit, and these days, storylines for movies were slim for the picking. "Well, Mrs. Delane," he continued as he caught sight of the impatiently waiting hostess again. "I believe they're seating us already—"

"Oh, of course, of course. Pleasure talking with you, Brucie," she said, waving her hand as she migrated back to the crowded bar area. Laetita also looked amused, but just as she was about to say something, her attention was caught on something behind us. Bruce was still dwelling on the whole movie problem when she finally spoke, her French accent different from the other voices around us. "Bruce, shall we go?"

"Bruce?" Another voice echoed.

"Hm?" Bruce reacted, glancing from his spot in space to her, but she was glancing behind them. At the other voice. He turned the opposite direction of Laetita, untwining himself from her arm in the process, to glance at the familiar face.

At first, he thought it was Rachel in her sparkling navy dress, her brunette hair cascading in waves over her shoulders.

But after blinking, a different face from his past revealed itself, one he thought he'd never see again.

"Ana?"

She smiled, and it lit up her face. She hadn't changed much, just grown more beautiful. Her features looked almost soft, as if movie-like. But her hair was still long and various shades of blonde, her form slender and tall, and her skin an even tan tone.

"What are you—"

"How are you—"

They both stopped, smiling. Eight years and some things hadn't changed a bit.

"You first," she mustered, her eyes never leaving him, grasping her clutch in front of her as her champagne halter dress glittering in the chandeliered light.

Bruce paused, "You look…great."

She blushed, finally looking away and downwards at her expensive heels, muttering, "Thanks."

Laetita cleared her throat next to him.

"Oh, Ana, this is Laetita Casta from France. Laetita, this is Anastasia Williams," he introduced, remembering his manners as opposed to purposefully forgetting them like he did with Rachel.

They politely shook hands.

"You are very pretty in real life," Laetita complimented.

"Thank you, you are gorgeous, too," Ana returned without the bat of an eye. No blushing, no bashful smiles, no confusion as to where Laetita could have possibly seen her before.

"Uh, _vous continuez_," he muttered absently when Laetita glanced up at him again, "_Je viendrai sous peu_."

She nodded in reply and moved to follow the hostess to their table. Bruce's attention returned to Ana. "How—"

"Impressive. A French supermodel. You've done well for yourself, Bruce."

He blinked. Was she judging him? "Ana—"

"It was a pleasure seeing you, Bruce. Honestly," she interrupted again, sternly.

"Ana, wait—"

But she strode straight past him and merged with the small group that was leaving from the bar. He stood still, watching as they disappeared, stunned. What had just happened? Had he even seen her at all?

* * *

_**A/N:** French translations:_

_Vous continuez – Go on._

_Je viendrai sous peu – I'll be along shortly._

_God, I wrote this literally five times. And my computer is retarded and never saved it each of those times (I think I might even be missing an Ana chapter in here-stupid computer). So I apologize if this chapter is pretty shitty, I got sick of re-writing it. The first write was so brilliant, I was so pissed at my computer for losing it, haha. I might go back and make it pretty later, but the other chapters are desperately wanting to get posted now, so I had to post it._


	26. II:VII

**Tuesday, August 4, 2009 – 6:45pm – European Crystal; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Her hands were shaking. She didn't quite understand why, but they were. And her heartbeat rang in her ears, and she gulped every five seconds. She was a wreck, and she didn't understand why.

"Everything alright?" Edward asked as he fell in step with her as they wandered down the hall with the rest of the group, which consisted of Chris and a couple of crew members and actors.

He couldn't tell that her hands were shaking, but maybe her expression gave it away. So she fixed it quickly with a bright smile.

He still wasn't buying it.

Her face must be pale. She tucked her purse under her arm and clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides to get the blood in her arms flowing.

"Ana," he tried again.

"I'm fine, Eddie," she snapped, and instantly regretted it with the hurt look that registered on his handsome face. "I'm just…tired, is all."

"You'll let me know if you need anything?"

She nodded as they approached the restaurant entrance. Pausing at the doors as the group continued out to the sidewalk to call cabs and town cars from there, she made an abrupt decision in attempts to forget about her previous encounter. "Edward?"

Just realizing that she was no longer next to him, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Hm?"

"What else is there to do in Gotham?"

* * *

**Wednesday, August 5, 2009 – 7:57am – The Ritz-Carlton Hotel; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Ana stared at the plain white ceiling of the hotel room as she listened to the wind whistle past the window. Lying on her back in bed, she exhaled, running her hands over her face and up through her hair exasperatedly. This was a rare day to sleep in, and instead she tossed and turned the four hours she managed to keep her eyes shut instead. Once she couldn't take that anymore, she alternated between laying in bed at different angles and sitting in front of the window with her head pressed against the glass, looking downwards at the tiny ants of people far below.

Suddenly she darted up and dashed to her purse sitting on the table in the other room. Finally an idea of how to pass the time reasonably instead of working so hard to keep memories out of her head.

Digging through her bag, she rediscovered the small, plain business card. As she leaned back against the desk, she examined it closely.

_Dr. Leslie Thompkins. East End Free Clinic._

She couldn't think of a better way to get her mind off of him than encountering the snide old woman again.

Over an hour later, and after sitting in seemingly endless rush hour traffic, the town car pulled in front of a shabby looking building with a large first aid sign hanging perpendicular to the street. The building, though shabby, looked better than some of the other buildings around it, and as she got out, she noticed that the sidewalk was littered with hooker stickers and fliers, as well as spotted with old and degrading gum stains. Parting ways with her town car, the driver was polite enough to wait until she went inside.

The inside looked like a plastic surgeon's office in Beverly Hills, minus all the ridiculous aesthetical features. The walls were freshly painted with bright, matching colors and accent walls, framed portraits hung in select areas, and fresh potted plants littered the hallway and waiting area. Only a couple of people lounged in the cushioned chairs, neither looking like they were deathly ill as one of them flipped through a magazine and the other was too intently focused on the TV in the room to notice her glance.

A stout, dark skinned woman with her short hair in tight braids rounded the corner, her eyes searching for the new visitor as if on cue. "Can I help you, hon?"

Stepping closer, Ana spoke up, "Hi, I'm looking for Dr. Thompkins?"

"Well, you've certainly come to the right place, hon. What did you need from her?"

"Oh, she just told me to stop by some time—"

"Patty, what—oh, it's you," Dr. Thompkins herself started as she, too, rounded the corner, a pair of latex gloves in hand. "Darling, what a pleasure to see you again. I knew you would come," she added with a warm smile, her blue eyes twinkling. It was such a different vibe from the other night, it threw Ana off.

"Uh…"

"Come here, let me show you around," the doctor waved, beckoning her closer.

Obediently, Ana followed, and they both disappeared around the corner and deeper into the clinic. They passed a couple of rooms full of medicine, computers and machines in addition to the restrooms before they reached the main room filled with at least fifty cots evenly spaced with sporadic curtains hanging from the ceilings around them. Less than half of them were filled, and most were still sleeping—or just laying there. With the skylight windows, the building must have been a small, old factory once upon a time.

"I started this clinic years ago with the help of Thomas Wayne. We both went to medical school together and we both agreed that Gotham needed a sanctuary like this for those who couldn't afford it. While Thomas worked to help the poor with public transportation through Wayne Enterprises in addition to his work at Gotham General, I worked here. Patty joined me a couple of years back when the work load was becoming too much for little old me."

Ana blinked as she looked around, her breath gone. Not only was this clinic in itself amazing, the fact that it had been running for years, but she personally knew the Waynes.

Of course she did. Why wouldn't the crazy old lady know the Waynes? But now wasn't the time to bring it up.

"Why are you showing me all of this?" Ana finally selected as her first question.

"Why did you quit medicine?" the elder woman asked right back.

"Dr. Thompkins—"

"Please, darling, call me Leslie."

Ana huffed a sigh. "Leslie, I quit medicine because someone once told me that I could do so many things with my life. I had worked hard to get where I was then, but then I stopped instead of seizing more opportunities."

"And how much do you miss it?" she questioned, eyeing Ana carefully.

Looking around, Ana observed the few who were visibly bandaged up, sleeping in their cots. One young woman was trying to get out of bed with the help of another patient. The cry of a newborn echoed through the tranquility of the air from behind one of the curtains. "I don't know what I miss," she explained. "I miss a lot, and I regret a lot. But I like my new life. I like the travel and the—"

"Leslie, we've got a multiple gunshot injury," Patty interrupted from the hallway as behind her hobbled two men carrying a third in between them. She led them to the nearest cot and hurried to pull the curtains around them as the attention of the entire clinic turned towards them.

Leslie made it there in a matter of strides, already helping to ease the newest patient onto the cot as he convulsed and sweated, blood oozing from his clothes. "Anastasia, can you bring that cart over here please?"

Instantly Ana became unrooted from the spot and darted towards the cart she remembered seeing when she first walked in. Wheeling it straight back, she yanked it to a sudden stop at the foot of the cot before grabbing the scissors and handing them to Leslie's outstretched hand without the spoken request. In a flash, Leslie cut the shirt off the quivering young man and pushed it off to the side as it revealed two bullet holes in the abdomen.

Ana winced, not because of how much blood there was leaking from his stomach, but because she knew his chances were less than slim.

* * *

**Wednesday, August 5, 2009 – 10:04am – East End Free Clinic; Gotham City, New Jersey**

"So let me get this straight, you guys got into a fight with a dog?" Ana asked one of the three men that had come in. This one was by himself now on his own cot while she treated his own injuries.

He shrugged, his dark eyes peeking out from his thick, dreaded hair, the whites of his eyes standing out against his dark skin tone.

"Where did the gun come into play?"

"Da Russians love dem dogs. Dey use dem for edryding. Da guns only come out when da dogs start losin'," he muttered, examining how she was doing with the bites on his arm.

"I'm sorry that that happened," she muttered back as she finished wrapping his forearm. "Let me get you a rabies shot, just in case, okay? Then I'll let you go."

He nodded solemnly as he rotated and flexed his arm, testing the bandage.

Ana slipped through the curtain and wandered back towards the front where the offices were. Down the hall, she could hear Patty on the phone with the morgue.

"Dr. Thompkins," Ana said as she knocked on the locked medicine room door.

Promptly, Leslie opened it and allowed for the younger woman to pass through it before shutting it again. "I presume you're looking for a rabies shot," she commented as she resumed and finished withdrawing a liquid from a jar via syringe.

Ana nodded as Leslie handed the full syringe to her. But instead of instantly returning to head back out, Ana paused. "Leslie, how did you know my name?" The thought hadn't struck her until after the gunshot patient had died and her thoughts had become unfocused again. It was then that she realized, looking back on the entire scene, that Leslie had addressed her by name when she had yet to tell it to her.

The older women smiled playfully as she finished with the second syringe. Taking her time withdrawing it, capping it, and putting the supplies down on the counter, she finally answered, "I knew who you were the minute you spoke."

Confused, Ana continued, "The other night? At the Wayne Foundation event? But you said you couldn't remember me?"

"Your face evaded my memory, but a voice as kind and sweet and determined as yours triggered my memory instantly."

Her answers were just adding to Ana's confusion. "How do you know me?"

"Anastasia, Bruce Wayne has always been a very important man in my life. I have known him since the day he was born. I never forget faces, especially the face of someone who once made him so happy," she answered with, a coy smile on her lips as her eyes twinkled again.

"But—"

"Now, no more questions. You have a shot to administer," the doctor concluded with as she shooed Ana out the door.

Ana shuffled back to her patient like a dog put out for the night. She was desperately racking her brain for an explanation of how in the world this crazy old lady knew her. Yes, she knew Bruce, but for all of a week. And she certainly couldn't have made him that happy. He disappeared from developed civilization for seven years after spending time with her. That didn't exactly shout "happiness."

Plopping down in the stool next to the bandaged man, he observed her carefully as she absently administered his shot. "Are you sure you doin' dat right?" he commented.

"Who's the medical professional here, you or me?" she shot right back at him with a smile.

"Just makin' sure. Dere be some crazy ladies 'round here. Especially watch out for da pretty ones. Dey be dangerous."

She glanced up at him, her smile getting wider as he shed one himself, his white teeth starkly standing out against his dark skin.

Once the shot was finished, she bandaged the insertion site up. "Now for this rabies treatment, you have to come back four more times before the end of the month. Can you do that for me?"

"For da pretty lady, anyding," he said, bowing his head.

She smiled and stood, holding her hand to help him up. "Go check out with Dr. Thompkins, but you and your friend should be okay to go."

"And what about our oder friend?" he asked, his smile vanishing.

Ana's smile slipped too. "I'm sorry, I really am. I hear the city morgue is going to take him so the police can find who killed him."

He shook his head. "We don't need no police. Dey don't do notin' to help us."

"Maybe they will this time."

He continued to shake his head as he walked away, heading towards where Dr. Thompkins was with his friend. After he was out of her range, she sat back down on the same cot he was just sitting on. Leaning forward, she put her elbows on her knees and let her bloody, gloved hands sit out in front of her, fingers intertwined. Her thoughts were already back on Thompkins knowing her, not like they had really gone anywhere to begin with.

Once the two men had left, both with heavier weights on their shoulders than when they came in carrying their friend, Ana decided to question Leslie while she helped clean up.

"So Alfred told you who I was," she persisted as she approached, readying to help Leslie with the sheets. Surely if she knew Bruce, she knew Alfred.

Leslie chuckled, "Darling, all I am going to tell you is to give that young man another chance. He is grieving right now and needs a little inspiration to keep him going. There is still a lot more to him than meets the eye," she added with a knowing look.

Ana blinked.

"Now shoo, go enjoy your day. No need for you to get trapped here like me and poor Patty."

"Oh, but I'm fine—" Ana started.

"No, once you get outside again you'll be fine. Now go."

With a huff, Ana silently agreed and turned to leave.

"But darling, feel free to come back whenever you find that sleep evades you again," she commented as she finished replacing the sheets.

_Crazy old lady_, Ana thought as she continued walking.


	27. II:VIII

**Wednesday, August 5, 2009 – 7:28am – Wayne Manor; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Light suddenly brightened the empty foray with the flip of a switch. As he wandered through the hall, the cool air from the kitchen greeted him when he reached the grand staircase in the middle of the house. He paused at the bottom of the marble stairs, tilting his head as he remembered the memories created here. Racing down them when mother returned home, father carrying him up them when he fell asleep in the study, him sliding down the marble banister while Rachel reprimanded him from the top of the stairs.

He shook his head, erasing the image of her six-year-old face from his mind, and continued towards the study.

He placed his thumb on the fingerprint-reader that blended into the wall. One of the bookcases on the opposite side of the room swung open with ease. Stepping inside, the room looked like a simple security room. Monitors lined a desk streaming surveillance feeds from throughout the Manor. However, once he typed in his favored combination of numbers for the week into the ten-key pad on one of the three keyboards on the desk, another hidden door behind him established itself from the wall and slid open. Stepping into the newly revealed elevator, another tap of yet another button had him speeding downwards. The first level of the cave flew past him before he could recognize the remnants of the wreckage from the previous Manor scattered around, making the area look unused. But within moments, rock suddenly turned to a spacious view and he quickly approached the bottom of the basin where lights flickered on at the descent of the elevator, illuminating the dark cave. The elevator slowed silently to a stop before allowing its door to slide open, and Bruce stepped out onto the cement walkway before taking a moment to admire the view.

They'd stumbled upon this basin when exploring the wreckage of the upper level of the caverns over a year before. Enough brick and mortar had collapsed onto one spot, causing the floor to collapse as well. It was a straight fall into the underground pond.

Further investigation proved this to be an air pocket from the underground stream that the waterfall on the end of the Manor's property supplied, making flooding unlikely. However, being as cautious as they were, they still installed their own flood-proof tactics.

The walk-way connected the wings—circular rooms of a sort, without walls and each with its own size and purpose—each brilliantly lit with lights that encircled it. Garage, medical, equipment, training, R&D, and storage wings. It allowed so much more room, and it was much more sophisticated than the lights he had strung up himself and a couple of work benches.

And secure.

He paused as he strolled by the equipment wing, lingering as he gazed at the large, enclosed cabinet that housed his other identity. He was never planning on wearing it again, but it was there. All of this was built just in case. Just in case the League decided to return with a new leader fighting for its cause, just in case the Joker somehow escaped and the police couldn't handle him, just in case someone new, someone worse, came along.

Tearing himself from his spot, he continued on to the R&D wing. On this platform, one of the largest, a single countertop lined the inside of the space, circling around a center console filled with monitors. He sat down at the desk and made the computer return to life.

But while the screen stared at him impatiently, he debated with himself. He hadn't been in here in nearly a year. He hadn't been near Batman in nearly a year.

He gently touched his torso in remembrance. A couple of sharp, white lines gleamed here and there. And a disgruntled circular scab stood out from the rest of the scars on his abdomen as the ugliest and largest one. Not to mention his ribs still ached when the pressure changed or he bent just the right way.

And those were just the physical scars.

Now his curiosity needed to be satisfied. He had been reminded of it all too many times since he'd come back to not need to just take a peek into his other life.

He pulled up the GCN news feed. Already they were running an expose on Bruce's return to Gotham, with pictures of him from the fundraiser already posted. But he wasn't interested in gossip. He wanted to know about his city.

Rewinding the archives back a year, he reminded himself of the details of the repercussions of that night.

The GCPD was cleaned out, with internal affairs investigations still going on. The MCU was still shut down. Even Gordon was suspended along with everyone else. Mayor Garcia had pulled in transfers from all over to make up for the losses and they still had yet to return home a year later. Bruce couldn't help but smile when he saw a couple of familiar names on the list of transfers: Allen and Montoya. The Chechen was found dead, and Sal Maroni died in a coma after two months in Mercy General. The Joker's trial only lasted a day after his week spent in Blackgate—he'd been declared insane within the first hour and transported immediately to Arkham Island with no small amount of security. And Batman, of course, was number one on even the FBI's most wanted list.

All of this he had expected. Or at least he had hoped for. But what threw him was the drastically dropped crime rate. The press had been wrong, according to the statistical records. Maybe people were uniting after what had happened. Petty crime was no longer important after what they had survived. Or maybe the superstitious and cowardly lot of criminals were still reeling from what had happened, they still had yet to get their bearings to do some nasty things again. With Maroni leaving no clear heir, the mob was virtually frozen, and the blessing was that no one decided to initiate a hostile takeover—well, if there was anyone _left_ to initiate one, that is. Or maybe the transfers did help the GCPD. Maybe the police force could finally act as a legitimate one again.

Or maybe it was because Batman was gone.

Maybe.

He cast one last, long glance at the photo of the broken flood light a photographer had snatched while it was stored in the GCPD impound lot. The black metal piece was sticking out—the wing the only thing he could recognize. Then he shut everything off.

* * *

**Wednesday, August 5, 2009 – 9:43am – Wayne Enterprises, R&D Department Headquarters; Gotham City, New Jersey**

"I'm beginning to wonder if you ever go home," Bruce commented lightly as he strode from the private elevator, moving deeper into the large sub-basement of the previous temporary Wayne Tower.

Lucius Fox chuckled lightly as he gently lowered a pair of tweezers before turning in his chair. As Bruce approached, Lucius gazed up at him from behind his spectacles. "It's good to see you again, too," Lucius commented with an amused gleam. They both found the amusement in Bruce keeping up his façade, even though Lucius knew well enough what he used to do at night. But before speaking again, Lucius paused for a moment, sizing up his employer. Bruce had an idea what that was about—Alfred and Lucius had gotten closer since Batman took flight over two years ago.

"I've been working on our little gizmo from a while back," Lucius finally said. Bruce cocked an eyebrow as he spared a glance towards his workspace. Sure enough, there sat the bullet bouncing gizmo, though it was mostly dismantled. Bruce had test run the device on himself, and it had worked wonderfully. The only problem was that it literally bounced bullets off of him and hit anyone standing nearby. But Lucius had managed to up the gizmo's energy supply so the bullets would simply drop the ground. Round two testing was done by Gordon and proved to work when Deadshot the assassin tried to shoot him…until the gizmo overloaded and the second shot Deadshot got off landed in Gordon's arm. Needless to say, Bruce had thought that the gizmo was left in the pile of failed and useless prototypes. But leave it to Lucius to find a use for anything.

"The bullet bouncing one?"

"That's the one. I'm trying to find other ways to use this sort of energy. Without trying to stop bullets, it could be used for something less dangerous. But," he added as he stood, already moving away from the desk and through the large basement, expecting the younger man to obediently follow. Bruce cast one long glance at the device before doing just that. "I have something for you."

They approached the far end of the subbasement and Lucius typed in a password on the keypad on the wall. After a small beep of approval, the garage door they were standing in front of slid upwards as the lights inside flickered on. There sat what looked like the original Tumbler, but with minuet changes that Bruce managed to notice. The flaps and windows were larger, it looked more armored, and there weren't as many gun barrels jutting out from the front of the tank.

"I had been working on it before you let the original prototype get hit by an RPG round," he said as he glanced to Bruce, who didn't shed a flicker of surprise. Lucius had been working on his own projects as well, and Bruce had plenty of good guesses as to what they were. "It has the same basic structure and design as the original, but I've altered it to fit more…domestic needs."

"Just when I thought the original was perfect," Bruce emptily joked as his dark hues remained on the sleek, black tank.

Lucius paused, sizing Bruce up again. "And there's something else, too."

Bruce cocked a brow. "More?"

The elder man gave a simple nod. "Your _wings_ should be ready as well."

Now this _was_ a surprise. Bruce had been helping Lucius with this particular project since before the Joker. And when they suddenly stopped, Bruce had assumed that Lucius was still irritated with Batman's last request of him. Apparently Lucius had hurriedly finished it himself instead. Although as to why, he could only wonder. "Mr. Fox," Bruce began, instantly earning the other man's full attention.

"Yes, sir?"

Bruce slowly shook his head, "Batman doesn't exist anymore. We can't keep making this technology."

"Pardon my saying so, Mr. Wayne, but I believe there is a phrase that goes, 'Better safe than sorry.'"

Bruce frowned.

"Besides, it's not all about you. While building this _technology_, I've found some great advancements to apply towards our other departments. If it wasn't for our _wings_ project, the latest line of military helicopters would not currently be in production," Lucius stated as he leaned against the table.

Bruce blinked. "So…I can still test drive it, correct?"

Lucius grinned, "I thought you were never going to ask."


	28. II:IX

**Thursday, August 6, 2009 – 1:02am – Arkham Isle; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Gordon stepped out of his car just barely after it came to a stop in front of the barricade. Glancing around, he looked for Stephens or Bullock among the dozens of uniforms running around, trying his best to ignore the rest of the chaos. But for a brief moment, it looked exactly like it had a year before—all SWAT teams and tactical units at the ready on these very bridges. There was only one thing missing.

Blinking the memory clear, he continued his search for his detectives.

"Hey, Gordo!" Bullock's deep voice boomed to Gordon's left. "Wonderin' when you'd show up."

"I was actually trying to get some sleep for once, Harvey," James answered tiredly once he approached his detective. "What do we have?"

"What do we have?" the larger man scoffed. "We've got one hell of a bad situation. We can't get men on the island yet—everytime we try, something new explodes. All the bridges are down and plenty of the loonies took _that_ opportunity—"

"What are you doing _about it_, Harvey?" the Commissioner interrupted impatiently.

Bullock cast his boss a level glance, but thought better of saying anything extra. "Outside of the island, I've got a couple of SWAT teams doing some sweeps for either inmates or the nut who keeps settin' off bombs. That's about all I _can_ do right now, Commish."

Gordon sighed. "Alright. Have we heard any word from anyone on the island? Any of the guards? Doctors?"

"Nada," the detective replied, glancing back to the island. "If anyone sensible is still alive in there, they're hopefully holed up nice n' good." Harvey glanced back to Gordon, "You know, I'm surprised that Bat you've been babbling about hasn't shown up yet. If he ain't the one settin' off the bombs, ain't this his MO?"

Now it was Gordon's turn to cast a level glance at Bullock. "Keep me posted. I need to find Stephens."

"He's on the other side of the island," Harvey helpfully offered, slightly put off from Gordon's reaction.

Returning back to his car while dodging the other uniforms that scampered about, Gordon thought about Harvey's statement. Obviously Batman had nothing to do with this, but would he come back for this? He had to. He had to understand that there was no way the GCPD could handle this, especially within the constraints of the law. This was all too similar to that terrorist incident, and if it wasn't for the Batman, Gotham would no doubt be in ruin.

Once he reached his car, out of instinct he glanced up towards the cloudy—and now smoky—sky.


	29. II:X

**Thursday, August 6, 2009 – 7:14am – Hotel 71; Gotham City, New Jersey**

"Hey, are you sure you want me to drop you off 'ere?" the cab driver asked from the front seat, drawing Ana from her phone in the back.

"Huh-?" she blurted, but her eyes quickly found the source of the cabbie's confusion. In front of several cars in front of them was a barricade of police cars, blocking the street. A few vans also clogged up the street, parked carelessly as their drivers either hovered around outside or remained impatiently in their vehicles.

"This street's a mess. Are you sure you want out 'ere?" he repeated impatiently.

Ana opened her mouth to reply, but hesitated—until she spotted a familiar face. "Yes, here's fine. How much?"

"$12.70."

She quickly handed him a twenty and slipped out of the cab. The cool, fall air hit her harder than when she left her warm hotel, making her tighten her coat around her as she skipped onto the sidewalk and made a bee-line towards Edward, who was hovering around the barricade looking irate.

"I wouldn't bother him right now," someone said as she passed them by, making her glance back at the voice.

He was tall, dressed in a business suit and a dark brown trench coat, with deep auburn hair and dark green-hazel eyes, sipping casually on a Starbucks coffee as he leaned against the building. She paused, doing a once over. "Why?"

"You're not much of a news person, are you?" She shook her head hesitantly, still trying to figure out if she knew him or not, and he continued, "The local asylum had a breakout last night. The police are trying to virtually shut the city down until they catch the most dangerous of the bunch."

She blinked. The casual tone he used unsettled her. "What does that mean for us?" she asked directly, glancing towards Edward again. At another glance, she discovered he was only feet away from Chris who was busy arguing with a large and scruffy-looking man, and a thinner man with a large moustache and heavy-framed glasses.

"That's what everyone's waiting around to find out."

She glanced back at the stranger, eyeing him cautiously. "Wait, who are you again?"

He smiled finally, a handsome smile, as he removed himself from the wall. "Just a passerby." And without another word or any form of a goodbye, he meandered in the opposite direction, leaving Ana lost.

_Odd…_

Ignoring his advice, however, she continued towards Eddie once she recovered her bearings.

"Ana-" Edward blurted when he irately glanced sideways to suddenly find her approaching. He quickly tried to remedy his tone as he grabbed her arm and pulled her a couple of paces away from the director and the two men he was speaking—yelling at. "You should probably wait—"

"Look, Mr. Nolan," the largest man of the group bellowed—his natural speaking level could be classified as a natural 'outside voice.' "It ain't possible! Do you want a bunch of loonies—"

"Detective Bullock," the smallest man of the group interrupted with a voice that seemed too large for him. "That's enough." Returning his attention to the director, the older man continued in a quieter tone, looking more tired than frustrated, "We're sorry, Mr. Nolan, but we can't take the risk. You need to understand the danger here—"

"Then leave a few squad cars here or something," Edward suddenly interrupted, seeming to appear at Chris's side once more without Ana noticing his departure from hers.

"Mr. Nygma—"

"Look, how long is all of this going to take?"

"It could be days or months—"

"Our shooting deadline is the first of the year," Edward interrupted for the third time, clearly irritating the larger man of the quadruplet. "And assuming all is well in a month or so, we still have allowed days for snowfall."

"So?" the larger cop finally spoke up, his Jersey sneer not belonging in the conversation.

"We will postpone production for now, but if all of this isn't cleared up in a month, we have to resume shooting. Unless Gotham City would like to pay for the cost of the production, in which case it would be up to the city what to do with it," Eddie skillfully suggested.

The cop in charge sighed as he adjusted his glasses. "We'll keep you both posted. Mr. Nolan, Mr. Nygma."

And then they both were off, retreating to their separate unmarked Fords.

"Ana," Eddie suddenly called once he finished watching the officers get into their vehicles. "Walk with me."

Out of curiosity for what was going on, she didn't even bother to pester him for the tone of his command. Instead she fell right into step with him as he headed for the various groups of crew members scattered about the area.

"They're trying to shut down the entire production," Edward filled in as they powerwalked.

"Can they do that?"

"Technically, no. But they can hinder us all they want."

"Why are they trying to shut it down?"

Edward sighed, "They believe we are a major target of the 'loonies' because of our subject matter."

"Because we're making a movie about Batman."

Eddie glanced sideways at her, a small smirk present. "Precisely."

"Why do I get the feeling that production isn't going to be postponed?" Ana questioned when they approached the nearest van—the camera crew.

Again, a smile returned to his face, lighting up his green hues. "I think you're a little too sharp to be an actress. The money bags behind this production won't accept delays."

"So what about filming?"

"We'll remain indoors—and under the radar."

* * *

**Thursday, August 6, 2009 – 3:04pm – Warner Brothers Studios-Gotham; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Dozens of people milled around, giving Ana prime opportunity to people watch while she lounged in one of the few directors chairs scattered about. With her hair tied back in a loose bun again, the sparkling navy dress flowing over her crossed legs, she rested her chin on her hand, eyeing the crowd. All dressed just as fancily, they were clustered into groups. Mostly girls with girls, guys with guys—friends with friends. Then there were the rare, awkward extras who had just jumped into a pack, the ones who were flying solo.

She hadn't done much extra work, diving straight into the photography scene before luckily landing her first role on _Buddies_. But she'd seen and met plenty of them. Some were there for fun, others for the chance to be in a movie, and others still for the free food, credit, and occasional pay—the starving actors and actresses.

Aaron and Christian's stunt doubles caught her eye, both of them laughing off to the side as they practiced fake sleeper hold techniques with the stunt director. She smiled as she watched, remembering when she and Travis would do the same thing—only with real sleeper holds.

"Alright everyone," Edward suddenly shouted above the talkative crowd, silencing everyone instantly. "We're finishing up for today. Tomorrow we'll try again at Hotel 71. Keep to your schedules." The general noise rose again when Edward signaled he was done by flipping the notebook that was permanently attached to his hand shut.

Ana didn't move when everyone else scattered. They grabbed their things, changed, chatted, milled around and left, all in different orders.

Instead, Edward approached her while she waited for the rush to leave. "So what are the plans for tonight?"

"I am Gotham-ed out. I think I'm just going to go pass out tonight," she laughed, slinking out of her chair finally.

As she headed back towards the dressing rooms to get her bag, he followed her like a lost puppy. "What about just dinner tonight?"

She hesitated, slinging the bag over her shoulder. "I suppose I could do early dinner. As in, four o'clock dinner."

He chuckled, "Of course, of course. You're the starlet, I cater to your needs."

* * *

**Thursday, August 6, 2009 – 6:17pm – Aqua of the Criterion; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Since the restaurant didn't open until five, Ana had taken a shower at the hotel and changed before re-meeting Edward. And the dinner went smoothly, with Edward telling jokes in between their talk about work.

When they left, they strolled out, Edward paused to hail a cab, but Ana kept walking. When Edward gave her a confused look, she shrugged her shoulders as she slowly walked backward. "You take a cab. The Ritz is only a couple of blocks, I'll be fine."

"A couple of blocks? Are you crazy?"

She offered him another shrug, to which he sighed and hurried to catch up with her.

"I'm not going to let you walk alone. Remember what I told you?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ana said exasperatedly as she talked with her hands. "Big and scary Gotham. You know, I learned in a college criminal justice class all about how scary Gotham is. And I'm not afraid of it."

"Oh yeah?" Edward asked, amused.

She nodded, her attention drifting off as she observed the city life around them. With sleep deprivation setting in, and the full meal in her now make her sleepy, the resulting combination left her delirious. And as an even more extreme result, she couldn't give Edward her full attention.

"If you've got it, you want to share it. If you share it, you haven't got it. What is it?" Edward suddenly said, as if he could tell her mind was elsewhere.

Confused, Ana finally glanced fully at him. "What?"

Smiling, he repeated, "If you've got it, you want to share it. If you share it, you haven't got it. What is it?"

She blinked, "A riddle? Really, Edward?"

"Do you know the answer?" he pressed, curious.

At this, she paused. She'd never really been asked a riddle before. But a riddle was basically a carefully worded question, right? "A word—a secret?" she managed, after thinking it over.

He blinked, surprised. "Yes, actually."

She smiled, surprised at herself. The chances of her guessing right were slim to none—she wasn't _that_ smart. But then it did click, the answer to the riddle. "And no, Eddie. I'm not telling you what's on my mind."

He laughed. "You truly are brilliant, darling, did you know that? I won't press any further. Here, actually. Let's do another. Listen closely, I'm hard to understand: I'm as elusive as a handful of sand. Even if you perceive me, you know me not before you can tell me, what I have forgot. What am I?"

Ana frowned. This one was harder. More words involved, and it rhymed, which threw her off. _Listen closely, I'm hard to understand._ That part reminded her of a riddle itself. She had to listen closely and decipher it—wait. "A riddle?"

Edward shook his head in awe. "You're the only one whom I've ever asked to guess two riddles correctly. Have you heard them before?"

"No," she replied, and when he glanced at her in disbelief, she defended herself earnestly, "I promise! I've never had much time for mind games, so I've never bothered with them."

"Then you're the girl of my dreams," he joked with a handsome grin. But before she could refute his statement, or before he could elaborate on it, he conveniently glanced around her and pointed. "Here, let's go this way. Shortcut so we don't have to walk through traffic."

She paused as he turned down the alley. There wasn't anything scary about it. But it also wasn't as bright nor as populated as the street that they were on. And even in her current, tired state, she knew better than to go asking for trouble. "Edward…"

"Come on," he prodded, reaching for her hand to tug her along.

"I don't think that's the right way—"

He suddenly yanked on her hand, dragging her into the alley as his eyes flashed with something she hadn't seen in them before. "Can't you just take a hint?" he practically growled in a voice that didn't seem like his own. And with one swift tug, he had her pinned against the wall of the alley, his breath hot on her neck.

Her senses became abruptly focused at the sudden threat and her eyes narrowed dangerously. Without hesitation, she brought up her knee sharply and snapped her elbow out when he keeled over, just missing his nose but hitting him hard enough in the face to leave an impression. And then she darted back towards the street, leaving her "friend" writhing in pain.

She ran the remaining couple of blocks back to the Ritz, and remained on edge during the short elevator ride back up to her suite. But as soon as she got the door opened and then locked behind her, she slid down to the floor with her back against the door and curled up against her knees. She didn't remember if she stopped crying first or if she fell asleep first.


	30. II:XI

**Thursday, August 6, 2009 – 11:10am – Gotham Century Towers; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Bruce blinked himself awake, leaving him staring upward at the plain ceiling, as he released a reality-grasping sigh. His nightmares were getting worse.

He had stayed up until dawn in Wayne Tower's subbasement, trying his best to distract himself, especially after he and Lucius had heard the news report around midnight. And now since he had been waking up early, his internal clock was off, making the mere four hours of rough and restless sleep enough for him.

A siren sounded in the distance, making him wince.

He glanced sideways, and, as expected, a newspaper and his usual protein shake rested idly on the small, bedside table. He managed a smirk when he noticed the slight condensation on the glass. Alfred still had some of his tricks.

Suddenly he rolled, his long arm grabbing the paper as he slid into a sitting position. With just once glance at the front page, he tore open the paper to the business section, desperate to busy himself with other things. The police were handling things. He didn't need to worry about it.

And then he was on to the sports section as he sipped on his shake.

While he was doing push-ups, he was mentally doing the crossword puzzle.

But as he stood in front of the mirror of his large bathroom, the shower water running and steam already enveloping the air, he was skimming the obituaries.

On his way to Wayne Tower, he had GCN on the radio.

While he sat at his desk, skimming through files, the news broadcasted silently on the wall-mounted TV.

As he spray painted his miniature jet black in the subbasement, the police scanner on the desk behind him was on. When Lucius joined him, he glanced at the device only once, but didn't question it.

He subconsciously kept this up until dinner, where Alfred found him sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, eating something he had made himself with chopsticks. At the sight, Alfred didn't know whether to chuckle or worry. Bruce had acted like this for a month after he returned—once he had gotten sick of pretending to be fine with his old silver-spooned ways.

But as they both watched the news in silence, something suddenly made the floor quiver. Static crossed the television screen momentarily before Mike Engle's face returned. Bruce paused in his chewing, his chopsticks hovering above the bowl. Suddenly fire erupted to his left, a small burst a few blocks away as a building went up in flames. With just the slightest delay, the large windows rattled in response. Another spot of fire emerged further away, followed by another and another.

Abandoning the bowl, Bruce stood and slowly moved towards the windows as Engle was interrupted on the screen. As far as he could see, Gotham burned.

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 4:10am – Wayne Manor; Gotham City, New Jersey**

He sat stoically in front of the monitor bay. All of the screens showed nearly the same thing, even though they were all different channels. Behind him, the Batsuit taunted him. It had been hours.

He didn't know what to do. He'd never felt so…lost before.

Rachel's words still haunted him. The chaos on the screens beckoned him.

His thoughts suddenly flashed elsewhere, as they had been all evening when he was searching more desperately for answers. And a face who could help him relax always filled the monitors each time before he blinked it away.

This time, however, when he blinked away her face, Gordon's was actually on the screen. It took him a moment to comprehend what he was seeing, but once it sunk in—the formal picture present instead of a candid—he lurched forward, quickly isolating the news feed and turning up the volume.

"…_to Mercy General in critical condition. It was reported that he was still inside one of the buildings when the bomb went off—"_

"Not Gordon," Bruce couldn't help but mutter as he looked hopelessly at the screen.

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 5:28am – Mercy General; Gotham City, New Jersey**

The heart monitor beeped steadily as Gordon slept. Physically, he looked unscathed. But the way he was curled up on his side, the paleness of his skin, and the slight hitch in his breathing told Bruce otherwise. That, and his charts said that he had already gone through surgery.

When the building he was in exploded—the building that they dragged Falcone and Zasz from, the first dead and the second still breathing—he had been lucky enough to be shielded by a metal security door. However, when the second floor collapsed…

He had shattered three ribs, broken his clavicle, and had internal hemorrhaging.

An automatic door opened down the hall, disrupting the steady beeps of the monitor. The only sound Bruce had heard from outside of the room since he had gotten there twenty minutes prior. He cocked his head slightly, listening for the footsteps to fade.

And when his attention returned to Gordon, he spotted the Commissioner's eyes flutter. His breathing caught as he awoke sharply, clearly remembering the night. He tried to cough, but only managed shallow heaves between winces.

Swiftly Bruce stood from where he had been sitting and gently took the oxygen mask from where it had been hanging from the cot to hand to Gordon. Desperate to breathe normally again, the elder man snatched the mask and roughly forced it over his head. Breathing quickly, but deeply, the heaving subsided. Carefully Bruce sat back down again, Gordon's brown eyes following.

The Commissioner stared at the masked man for a long time. And Bruce's shadowed eyes stared right back.

Finally the bed-stricken man shifted, his upper arm moving to reach for the mask. Bruce's eyes flashed with worry, but Gordon only pulled it inches away from his face as he released a sigh, "We were in this together…"

Bruce diverted his eyes.

Another deep breath, "And then you were gone." The heart monitor was still beeping faster than it had before, but his breathing was leveling out at last. His words coming out more as breaths than anything. "And now there's…evil rising." His brown eyes not hidden by the usual square frames glanced away for a moment as if remembering a bad dream. But before Bruce could worry about what exactly had happened over the past week, Gordon's eyes suddenly focused sharply back on him. "The Batman. Has to. Come. Back."

Bruce's hues returned to Gordon's, their eyes locking once more. "What if he doesn't exist anymore?" he finally whispered, truthfully.

"He must," was the immediate plea, his face looking more pained, haunted, and fearful than ever. It almost made Bruce afraid. Gordon had always been strong, ever since Bruce was just a little boy, shroud in his father's evening coat. And even when Gordon was at his most vulnerable, when Two-Face had his family at gunpoint, he was still strong, still brave. But this… "He must…"

The automatic door opened again, drawing Bruce's attention.

Gordon replaced the mask as he closed his eyes, resting from the vigorous task of talking. This time the footsteps paused outside of the door. Carefully the door handle turned, a nightshift nurse poking her head through the small space she allowed herself. And as Gordon opened his eyes again, the nurse was shutting the door and the Batman was long gone.

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 5:56am – Gotham City Police Department; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Though the news didn't know exactly which building Gordon had been hauled out of, the police did. And even though the sun was already above the horizon, Bruce was going to try to find out what the hell happened as quickly as possible.

Batman peered into the dark room from his vantage point on the fire escape. Gordon still remained in his old office and had yet to take up the Commissioner's office in city hall, thankfully. The desk was covered in papers, and the rest of the office wasn't up for a cleanliness award either, but it was void of any lingering detectives or lieutenants trying to take over for Gordon. He tried to silently open the window and was surprised to find it unlocked. Gordon still left it open for him. Slipping inside, he crept around the stacks of folders to hover over the desk, his small LED flashlight already in hand. Whatever papers were on the top were the most recent events—he could start there.

Arkham Asylum blueprints and maps of the island were rolled up and slipped in between two stacks of papers. Three stacks of folders on the floor were patient files of the Arkham inmates. A print-out of an E-mail containing the names of the staff on the island was sticking out between a stack of police reports deemed suspicious over the past week. But the majority of the top layer of the desk contained scattered files of the inmates reported in the news, along with a couple of other familiars.

Batman flipped past the first couple, shifting them so he could get to what was underneath. But he paused when he spotted Harvey Duall's file.

Heavy footsteps approached just past the door and he extinguished the flashlight. They came closer and stopped just outside the frosted window, a silhouette of a tall and wide frame still wearing a hat and trench coat in the building. Batman shrugged his shoulders, allowing his cape to fall around him in case he had to slip away lest the intruder entered. But after a moment, the figure bowed and a file slipped under the door before it lumbered back down the hallway.

Curious, Batman abandoned the desk and silently shifted his way towards the door. Kneeling, he examined the loose pile of folders that had all been pushed underneath the crack. The one that had just been dropped off was the building explosion that Gordon had been, the Ace Chemical Plant. All of the ones underneath were reports on the rest of the destroyed buildings. Making a mental note in that photographic memory of his of the names of all the buildings and their locations, he stood, leaving the files as they were and headed back towards the window.

Only when he reached the ledge, his gloved hand perched at the ready, did he pause and glance back at the desk. He was curious about this Harvey Duall. And he did need to know about him to catch him. He slunk forward and flipped open the file in a smooth motion.

There was still no photo. Only a description under the name. "Caucasian, six foot, 175 pounds, blond hair, blue eyes, _very noticeable burn scars on the left side of face and neck and parts of the left shoulder." _Batman blinked, stunned. _It couldn't be…_

"_Prognosis: Patient displays dissociative identity disorder, with strong bipolar moods. Claims to be the District Attorney, Harvey Dent. It is still unknown how patient received extensive burns-."_

More footsteps. More hurried and lighter this time, and accompanied by more pairs. He flipped the flashlight off and disappeared out the window before they even began unlocking the door.

Climbing back to the roof, he vaulted himself over the ledge and straightened up, glancing around at the surrounding buildings. The Tumbler was less than a half mile off, hidden between dumpsters in the alleyway behind one of the bomb sites: the Museum of Science and Industry. A straight shot from here, rooftop to rooftop—

"Put yer hands up where I can see 'em!" A voice boomed from behind him.

Batman glanced casually over his shoulder to find the same frame that had approached Gordon's office door earlier, a cigar still hanging in his mouth as he used both hands to aim his gun at the vigilante. Now that he could see the face, Batman instantly put a name to it from the files he had skimmed a couple of days earlier: Harvey Bullock. One of the new detective transfers.

"You make one move, and I swear to God—"

Batman flung his cape open before diving off the rooftop as bullets sung past him, tearing through the tri-weave fabric. The gun continued to go off even as he approached the ground, so the Bat rolled into a landing and kept on running. Just as he was about to dash off around the corner of an adjacent alleyway, bullet number six of the handgun landed in his left shoulder, conveniently just under the large titanium plate there. Cursing his luck and the detective's aim, he flew around the corner and slammed against the opposite wall, pausing for a moment to inspect the damage now that he was out of range.

"Dispatch, we got a bogey on foot headin' east in the alleys adjacent to the department," Bullock loudly reported into a radio. "The Batman."

The radio was turned too low for Batman to hear dispatch's response, but he couldn't wait around for it anyway. These alleys were going to be swarming with police shortly, thanks to those two little words. Ignoring the pain that was now radiating in his back, he darted down the alley.

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 6:34am – Dixon Docks; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Bruce heard the car approach. He even heard the engine idle for an extra moment before shutting off, the door opening and closing, and light, even steps approaching. But he didn't say anything, and the approaching butler didn't utter a word either. It unusual, but the shock of seeing Bruce back in the suit probably silenced him.

Or he had watched the morning news when he woke up before deciding to find his employer.

While Bruce continued to stare at the list of buildings bombed, a grand total of six ranging from gardens to hospitals, he noticed each step Alfred took. Most of them were even and steady. A couple were off balance, as he stepped around the discarded pieces of the suit.

But nothing hid the, "Good Lord," the elder man breathed after setting down the morning paper and the protein shake to-go, and turned towards his young charge.

Bruce exhaled, surprised that he was holding his breath, and with it came a new wave of pain and nausea.

_Oh, that's why…_

Shifting in his seat, he leaned back, propping his elbows up on the arm rests.

"Master Way—"

"Alfred, does this list mean anything to you?"

Releasing a pent-up sigh of his own, the butler approached to stand next to the boy billionaire and observe the center screen himself. After a moment of his blue hues scanning the list from top to bottom and back up again, he turned to fetch the medical bag waiting next to the desk, still out in the open from its previous constant use. "From a wordy stand point, if you arrange them a certain way, they spell out something rather familiar."

Amazed that the elder man could find something so abstract from just a glance, Bruce mentally reorganized the list until it spelled out what Alfred had hinted at while the man himself was gloving up and preparing to tackle Batman's most recent injury. Without even a comment or a glance needed, Bruce began to struggle out of the top half of the suit with Alfred's assistance. Dried blood made the tri-weave fiber stick to his skin in certain places, while Alfred found that some of the titanium plates were still sticky and slick from the ominous liquid that flowed like a river down the younger man's back.

Finally, once the suit was off, leaving Bruce bare-chested and in more pain than he started out with, Alfred went straight to work on his shoulder blade while Bruce focused on the screens again, attempting to distract himself. "What would you say if I told you that all of these buildings have been associated with my family?"

At this revelation, Alfred paused in his work of removing the shallow bullet, glancing back up at the screens himself before moving his gaze towards Bruce and then back to the shoulder. "I would say that I think someone is trying to play a game with you," he muttered, digging into Bruce's flesh.

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek and tasted blood as he gripped the arm rests of the chair with a painful force, which only hurt his back even more. But just as quickly did the pain subside as Alfred leaned around Bruce to set the bloodied and smashed bullet on the desk before started the cleaning and bandaging process.

Ignoring the metallic taste in his mouth, Bruce thought aloud, "Bristol Country Club had hosted a variety of events, including several Wayne Foundation fundraisers. The Ace Chemical Processing Plant used to be owned by Wayne Enterprises before they became a 'clean' company and shut down the plant. The Museum of Science and Industry was started by my mother. The North Gotham Hospital was a branch of Gotham General and received the same funding from my father. Aqua was the hotel I bought a year ago." At that fact, Alfred couldn't help but smile. "And Neo-Eden was the Wayne Enterprises biology facility. This is too smart for the Joker. He doesn't know who I am, and the explosives used were complicated. Much more than gasoline and toy bombs."

"Perhaps a new foe?"

"One who has access to this information, can create these types of extensive explosives, and with a sick sense of humor."

"That certainly sounds like the clown." Bruce cocked his head, and Alfred shed a tight smile. "At least, the latter does."

"I don't know where to begin," Bruce muttered, already sounding and feeling defeated. As if the Arkham break wasn't bad enough, now this? None of the inmates could've orchestrated this, especially with what little time they've had.

"Perhaps you should start with the B," Alfred implied with a small smile.

Not feeling the humor, Bruce just sighed as he glanced back at the screen. Among the list, now rearranged, only the word _Batman_ stared back at him now. Between checking the bomb sites and hunting inmates, tomorrow night was going to be busy.


	31. II:XII

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 5:56am – 1480 E Russ Way, Apartment 91; Gotham City, New Jersey**

Throwing open the door, Tommy Elliot barged into the room, his trench coat surrounding him like a cloak and parts of his bandages around his face torn off.

Normally the entrance would've startled the still dressed Edward Nygma, his dark green top hat tilted low over his sleep-deprived, matching eyes, the shadow hiding the deep bruise high on his cheek bone. But he didn't even flinch from his spot on his surprisingly clean couch when Tommy pointed a gun at him.

"What were you thinking?!" he shouted, slamming the door behind him as he cocked his gun. "I should just kill you now and save me the trouble of cleaning up this mess."

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, "Did Batman show up?"

After a long hesitation, Tommy finally switched the safety back on and lowered his gun. "Even though it worked, you jumped the gun. He will not be pleased."

"From what I have gathered, there are plenty of forces at work to make sure the Bat fails. Why bother about this incident? Pin it on one of the loonies. I thought our only concern was the _girl_."

Tommy's eyes narrowed at the way Eddie spat that last word. "That's what this was about?"

Edward's green hues narrowed dangerously.

"I told you not to get involved—"

"I'm no_t,_" he emphasized, rising from the couch to his full height. Though he only stood at about the same height as the intruder, his dark green, well-tailored, dress suit made him look more elegant and almost more menacing than the man with the .45 pistol. Not to mention the black cane he still had in his hand or the dangerous look in his eyes from underneath his top hat. "Now, get out."

Tommy looked surprised. "Don't you—"

"I said, _get. Out._"

Eying the different side of the man he thought he knew, Thomas paused before reaching into the inside of his trench coat pocket with his free hand and withdrawing a small pill container that held only a single, cylinder pill. "Keep track of her. And get her to me within forty-eight hours."

Hesitating as a wave of conscience washed over him, he quickly shook it off and snatched the container.

"_Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work._ Until he's out of the way, you don't get what you want."

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 6:17am – Amusement Isle; Gotham City, New Jersey**

He was furious. No amount of bombs or other reckless acts would cure him of his anger. He wanted at the source of his frustration. He wanted _him_.

Before, knowing Batman's identity was a mere joke. _A riddle_.

But now that he met her…

He hated them both. They both deserved to die.

Edward paused outside of the gates of the amusement park that gave the island its name. The rising sun reflected off the harbor, the orb right on the skyline. Being the smartest man in Gotham did have its perks. All he needed to hear was the wisp of a rumor of the clown's whereabouts, and deducting the actual location wasn't hard. Finding the gates' locks shattered on the ground only confirmed his intelligence.

The laughter guided him from the gate to the manager's office—the only light seen for at least a mile. Even when he threw open the door, much in the same style that Tommy had done less than a half-hour earlier to him, the laughter continued as the clown pointed and shrieked in response to the GCN's continuous reports of the bombings.

"You've _earned_ your audien_ccce_," the seated figure wheezed without turning around. "A display like tha_t_—that's a hell of a business card!" He burst into laughter again, cackling like the madman he was. As he squirmed in his chair, his dirty orange legs flying about—the remains of the jumpsuit, Eddie allowed him to finish his spasm patiently, still standing ominously on the threshold with his cane positioned evenly between his feet. While Eddie still knew he was the smartest man in Gotham, the clown was holding his due. "What's your propositio_nnn_? And you better have brought me my…_effectsss_"

The Riddler smiled, his perfect, white teeth glowing with the TV screen as the Joker burst into laughter yet again.


	32. II:XIII

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 9:36am – East End Free Clinic; Gotham City, New Jersey**

She stepped inside the clinic gingerly, as if she didn't belong there. The waiting room was surprisingly empty, but a general chatter of noise carried back through the hallway from the main room, hinting at a large amount of patients. Over the chatter, Leslie's voice carried from her office through the open door, anger causing it to rise above her normal volume.

"Although I trust your patchwork, with his medical history, I should be treating him from now on. There are only so many times he can get shot and then patched back up like a rag doll." A pause. "I don't care what he will think, he is as much of a son to me as he is to you. He will have to deal with it if he keeps running around like this. I know that you understand that I am only looking out for his well-being, whether or not it is an inconvenience to him." Another pause, followed by an exasperated sigh. "Fine. If you will not permit me to examine him, then I just must trust your history-laden patchwork. But if anything more serious happens, I want you to call me."

She slammed the phone down, causing Ana to jump, not fully realizing just how closely she was listening. Who in the world could piss of Leslie so badly? The woman, though proud and strong, seemed impervious to such an emotion beyond the general capacity of society's ability to harm itself. The woman in the office currently sounded so different from the Leslie she met the other day.

But yet when she rounded the corner, it was still the same woman, all signs of anger gone from her face. In addition, as she registered who was standing in the waiting room, she offered a friendly smile. Ana returned it, as her smile instantly made her feel better, as Leslie spoke up, "Oh, hello dear. I wondered if that was you. I see you've come back for more," Leslie teased as she led the way back towards the main room.

"I had the day off," Ana said, which wasn't entirely a lie. When she had called in to Chris, ready to make up a bullshit excuse why she couldn't come to the set today, he had informed her first that the production had been postponed. This time, for real. "Besides, I felt like you two could use the extra hand today."

Leslie glanced back at her with less of a smile than before. "Then thank you, darling." But as she glanced back, she did a once over and paused in the middle of the hallway. "Is everything alright, dear?"

Ana blinked, surprised that she could tell something was off. Well, the something that was off was growing into a number of things at this point and she was beginning to fail to keep them all straight. And then, with a quick nod, "Yes, of course. Everything's fine."

Leslie eyed her carefully before she resumed walking, as if she didn't believe it, but wasn't going to press the matter.

They emerged from the hall to a full room, where plenty of people remained standing around the spaced cots. Some beds were even shared by minor injuries.

"While nearly all of the bombed buildings were practically empty, save for a couple of security and janitorial staff, and that police squad in that one building, the buildings next to the bombs are not as structurally secure as Wayne Enterprises built buildings. One of the apartment buildings next to that biology facility collapsed."

Ana blinked, astounded as she looked around. "At least you aren't dealing with the hospital bombing, right? They're being shipped to other hospitals."

"Yes," Leslie nodded as she headed towards a patient, Ana following. "If you want to look at it that way."

"Wait, Leslie, you said that the buildings bombed were Wayne Enterprises buildings. Not all of them were, were they?"

"If you do your research, darling, I'm sure you'll come up with that answer on your own," she commented over her shoulder as she sat next to two little girls curled up on a cot together with what looked to be their big brother standing guard.

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 4:56pm – East End Free Clinic; Gotham City, New Jersey**

They day went by quickly as she worked from patient to patient. She only felt comfortable dealing with the small things by herself, as it had been so long since she'd practiced any type of medicine other than a band-aid for herself once in a while, so she let Leslie and Patty help the burn victims, broken bones, and other, more critical cases.

When she finally took a breather, stopping to observe the pace of the room, the vast area had cleared out considerably. Now just a little over half of the cots were occupied, and far less people were standing around.

"Leslie," Ana began as she approached her while she was washing her hands in between patients. "I think I'm going to head out."

"Oh, of course dear. You're welcome to leave at anytime." But as Ana turned away, the elder woman spoke up again. "Have you been by to see that young Mr. Wayne recently?"

Ana paused. "Dr. Thompkins—"

"I don't want to hear it. Go visit him, at least for a quick friendly chat. Stop by on your way home. If that silly young man doesn't miss you, I know for certain that a certain old Brit does," she added with a wink.

So Alfred was her information source. That sly old guy.

Ana sighed, about to continue to refute, but Leslie hushed her with a lifted hand. "Make an old woman smile."

Stepping out of the clinic, Ana waited outside for the cab she had called, mainly so she could make another phone call. While listening to the other line ring, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up, she frowned when she glanced across the street to see two photographers loitering in a car, both snapping pictures like there was no tomorrow. "If you get closer, you could get a better shot, assholes…" she muttered under her breath.

"_Aloha, mi anela!_" he answered in barely one ring as she paced back and forth on the dirty sidewalk outside the clinic.

Automatically, Ana smiled, glad to hear his voice. "Travis, have I told you how much I miss you?"

He laughed over the phone, "_Only every time we talk._ _But what's up? You sound more stressed out than usual? Are those big bad actor-types not letting you be the princess you are?_"

"I am not a princess," Ana growled, earning another laugh. But then her tone quieted, "It's just…I miss you."

"_What happened?_"

Part of her cursed him for knowing her too well. The other part was grateful that he did. But she didn't want to tell him everything that happened. She didn't want him to worry about her. "I'm just having a rough time out here."

"_You're in Gotham, right? For that movie?_"

"Yeah."

"_Well, at least that has to be fun, right?_"

"The movie's been postponed."

"_What? Why?"_

"This city's why. Apparently the local loony bin had a massive breakout, and our movie wasn't safe."

Travis giggled. "_That sounds like a movie in itself. A pretty bad one, but a movie nonetheless."_

Ana smiled slightly, finding the humor.

With her silence, Travis's tone quieted as he continued, "_Is there anything specific I should know of?"_

"I don't want to worry you, Travis—"

"_Then you wouldn't have called."_

She hesitated. "When are you going to come visit me-?"

"_Ana,"_ he replied, impatiently.

Frowning, she sighed as she kicked a hooker flyer, which just flipped over her shoe and landed in the same place it started. "I miss you, Travis. I miss Hawaii."

There was silence on the other end before, "_Ana, now you're worrying me. You've never regretting moving to California, at least not out loud. What happened?"_

"Nothing specific," she lied as she glanced behind her while managing to slip her phone between her ear and her shoulder so she could fumble with her bracelet again nervously. "But I've been helping out at a clinic here in the city in my free time, especially since here now I have a lot of it. And it's making me realize I miss it more than I thought I would."

"_Anastasia Williams, the tender heart,"_ Travis joked. _"I knew you would miss it,"_ he continued more seriously, "_you liked it too much. But you are the type of person who wants to do multiple things with her life. You already did that, and I believe—despite what I may have said at the time—that you made the right decision to move out there and become some fabulous movie star. Once you're done doing that, you'll move on to something else. But yes, you'll always miss what you've done before because you're doing exactly what you want to do with your life."_

Ana frowned again as her cab pulled up. She had forgotten how much he had grown up in the past decade. Getting married and having a kid had a lot to do with it. "Stop being so smart."

He laughed over the phone while she slipped into the backseat, "_I will when you stop needing me to be."_

Before getting back to his smartass, she covered the microphone with her thumb and leaned forward to speak with the cab driver, "Could you take me to Wayne Manor, please? I don't know the exact address, but if you need—"

"Naw, it's okay, lady. Wayne's hosted enough parties that his house is on our radar," he bluntly replied with after doing a double take in the review mirror. "It's no problem."

"And the car behind us-?" she began, but he interrupted again with an understanding nod.

"Not a problem, lady."

Satisfied as the driver began to pull away from the curb, she returned to her phone conversation. "How about—"

"_Did I just hear what I think I heard?"_ he suddenly interrupted in a much different tone than he was using.

"Depends on what you think you heard," she tired, still managing to be playful while she actually knew what he meant.

"_Don't mess with me, Ana. Why did I just hear _his_ name?"_

"Damn your Vulcan hearing," she muttered, the joke still not even having an effect on him.

"_You're not going to see _him_, are you?"_

"Of course not. It's Gotham. His family's name is on like half the buildings out here. We just passed Wayne Tower."

Travis scoffed on the other line, _"The fact that he has his own tower named after him is repulsing enough."_

Ana sighed lightly, glad that her lie worked, before changing the subject, "Well, Travis, I really just wanted to say hi…" She drifted off, her first two fingers hooking beneath the worn leather of the wristlet on her left arm before circling it around her wrist anxiously.

After a small silence, Travis spoke up again, this time not angry or joking, just serious. _"Ana, you know that you can tell me anything right?"_

Habitually, Ana smiled, her nervous tick coming to a halt.

Suddenly, a smash, and then crying sounded on the other end of the line, followed by Travis's laughter. _"Sorry, anela. Michael just ran into the glass door and now he thinks he's dying. I've gotta go."_

She couldn't help a snigger. "Tell him 'hi' for me when he stops crying. And Travis?"

"_Yeah?"_

"Thanks. I'll talk to you later."

"_No problem, anela. Whatever's got you spooked, fix it. I know you can."_

Leaving it at that with a lingering smile on her face, she hung up the phone and glanced out the window. They were just crossing the bridge out of the main part of the city, heading north. And looking past the other bridge blocking her view, and through the smog that seemed to smother the air, the not-so-distant ocean glowed underneath the distilled sunlight. She had blatantly used Leslie's clinic as a coping mechanism for her encounter the night before. She could at least do a favor for the older woman, no matter how awkward and short it may be.

At least the cab driver had done her a favor. The last thing she needed was the tabloids dragging that old skeleton out of the closet.

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 5:21pm – Wayne Manor; Gotham City, New Jersey**

_Please don't answer the door, please don't answer the door, please don't answer the door._

Ana nervously rocked each heel of her wedge boots back, shifting her weight constantly. The taxi cab idled impatiently behind her down a short set of wide stairs. And the sound of the doorbell still echoed throughout the inside of the mansion on the other side of the door.

She was at the point of more tapping her toes than rocking her heels back, busy praying that no one was home when she stopped suddenly and leaned forward, listening for footsteps.

_Silence_.

She could at least tell Leslie she tried, and maybe the old woman would be satisfied with that.

Unfortunately, just as she had made it down the two out of four stairs, the door unlocked loudly before being pulled open. Freezing in her midstride, she glanced over her shoulder to find that Alfred was the one opening the door. He paused once the door was open enough for him to comfortably see and be seen from his position just inside the threshold, his blue hues settling on the guest. And as he registered who she was, a smile parted his lips. A whimsical smile, as if he hadn't smiled in years.

"Ms. Williams," was all he could muster.

Ana smiled bashfully at her name as she retreated back up the last couple of stairs to stand even with the older gentleman. "Pleasure to see you, Mr. Pennyworth."

He chuckled as he shook his head, "No, no. Believe me, it's all mine. And please, need I remind you to simply call me Alfred. Please," he continued, moving to hold the door open wider for her, "come in."

Bashfully, she tenderly stepped inside, her wedges making light taps against the marble floor. "This house is beautiful," she commented as she glanced around, the grand marble staircase down the hallway in front of her.

"I certainly have always thought so," Alfred replied as he carefully closed and locked the large door behind them. "Would you like any tea or coffee?"

She shook her head, still looking around for an extra moment before fully returning her attention to the butler. "No thank you, Alfred. I'm fine.

Nodding in acceptance, Alfred ushered her to the room next to where the main hall was. The parlor, Ana assumed. As she took a seat in one of the sofas, Alfred remained standing for an extra moment. "Shall I-?"

Knowing exactly what he was asking, she quickly interrupted. "No. No, it's fine, Alfred. I want to talk with you."

Even though his expression brightened up at the notion, he still hesitated before sitting down across from her. "And what, pray tell, brings you all the way out here, Miss Williams?"

Leaning back and crossing her legs, she tried to get comfortable as she mentally prepared herself to tell her story of fame to him, though without the usual vague details she normally included when telling the story to others. "Well, it was really just luck, actually. There was this guy—"

"Begging my pardon, Miss Williams, but I meant what are you doing here at the Manor? It is a pleasure to see you, certainly. But as I understand it, you have quite a busy schedule in the city."

His eyes twinkled as she just stared at him, shell-shocked. "Have you been stalking me, Mr. Pennyworth?" she said in the most womanly, overbearing, and surprised voice she could muster.

At this, his quiet laugh joined his twinkling eyes. "Well, when a fabulous young lady such as yourself arrives in a city like this, it tends to be all over the news."

"Oh, of course. But it seems to me that an information source such as a mutual friend of ours is far more accurate than the tabloids," she replied, a bright smile of her own.

Alfred looked surprised for a moment, before it passed for amusement. "She did mention you were a quick young lady."

"What are you two up to?" Ana asked, half jokingly and half serious.

"Absolutely nothing outside of the parameters of polite society of us elderly folk."

"If you two think that playing matchmaker—"

"Alf—"

They both instantly glanced towards the hall where the uttered syllable came from, which caused the word to halt in his throat. There he stood, the infamous Bruce Wayne. He was wrapped up in a robe with long pants underneath, his hand clutching at his side as if he had slept on it wrong. His long hair was a mess, his dark eyes still half open and sleepy. But once he halted his speech, he tried to make up his appearance by straightening up and exchanging the sleepy expression for more of a "deer-in-the-headlights" one.

"Master Wayne," Alfred broke the sudden silence with as he stood. "Pleasure to see you up and about."

Ana just couldn't stop starring. He looked so different than when she had seen him a few nights before, all dressed up and acting like the playboy he was. He looked…normal. Well, as normal as a clearly sleep deprived person could look.

Slowly, he broke eye contact with Ana, and glanced around the room. Then he carefully meandered towards the chair closer to Alfred, and as he sat, his eyes meeting Alfred's, he offered a quick nod of acknowledgement before sitting fully. More than a mild wince crossed his face as he leaned back, but once he was comfortable, his pajama clad legs loosely crossed and one slipper dangling slightly from his lifted foot, he reached to smooth back his hair with one quick run of his hand. "So," he drawled, seeming to avoid eye contact with Ana now. "What brings you all the way out here?"

It was almost like father, like son. More like, like adopted father, like son. She couldn't help the smirk that slipped from her otherwise stoic expression, even more when she noticed Alfred's own break of composure.

"Just visiting an old friend. I haven't seen Alfred in years."

At this, his dark hues instantly met hers threateningly. She almost completely broke her composure to giggle. Almost. Instead, she flashed a playful smile as her own twinkling blue eyes met his.

In the midst of this standoff, Alfred exhaled as he straightened up, glancing between the two. "I'll go prepare some coffee," he commented, laying out his excuse to leave the room.

As soon as the older man vanished from sight, Bruce leaned forward. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Good to see that he still had his moods. "Visiting," she snapped right back.

"Bullshit. Visitors don't casually stroll around the European Crystal."

"Depending on the visitor, yes they do. You know, with all your money and influence, you don't seem to be caught up on your current events."

"What current events?"

"Any current events. You clearly don't know anything that's going on."

"I know what I need to know."

She hesitated this time, and in her pause, she also noticed that they were both leaning forward menacingly towards each other. Exhaling a defeated sigh, she leaned back again, crossing her legs elegantly. "Yes, clearly. Look, a mutual friend of ours told me to stop by. I'm just doing her a favor. By no means do I want to impede on your _flawless_ reputation."

That struck a nerve. He visibly flinched as he digested the emphasis in the statement. After a momentary struggle, however, he managed to brush off the backhanded comment. "What mutual friend? Alfred?"

She smirked slightly, and was glad that it irritated him. "No, not Alfred. Though, he was the other part of the reason why I decided to stop by. So, I wasn't entirely incorrect in my earlier statement. And now that you know exactly why I'm here, can you stop with the badgering questions?"

"No."

At this, her eyes narrowed. "I didn't come here to get in a fight with you." Though it would prove as a good _I told you so_ for Leslie. "Why don't you crawl back under whatever rock you crawled out from and let me enjoy my visit with Alfred?"

"What do you care about my reputation?" he bluntly asked.

"I care enough about it to know to avoid you like the plague, like I should have done years ago." The words even hurt her to say them, and she diverted her eyes instantly, glancing down at her wrist. With her hands already in her lap, her fingers nervously touched the band. She had never felt like this before, not even nine years ago. Her eyes burned as she fought back their desire to condensate, and she swallowed hard. Travis was right. He had hurt her, more than she had realized.

When his hand suddenly entered her view, his fingers reaching for the bracelet, she jumped, withdrawing her hands immediately from her lap. Glancing up at him, he also looked startled as he stood there awkwardly directly in front of her. Hesitating, he took a step back, "How did you get that?"

Her reddened eyes narrowed harshly at him, "You don't remember?"

He blinked, startled. "No…I remember buying it during lunch and putting it in my pocket, meaning to give it to you. And then…things happened…"

"You mean you disappeared off of the face of the earth for seven years."

"Ana—"

"Doesn't exactly make a girl feel good when the guy she was hanging out with vanishes from society like that."

"It wasn't you. Had nothing to do with you."

"Master Wayne, your coffee," Alfred interrupted, while carrying a silver tray with a steaming, full cup, an extra empty one, and a pot to match.

Finally glancing away from her, Bruce turned to Alfred, ready to reject the offer, "That's alright, Alfred. I have work to do." And as he turned away from both of them, starting to head out of the parlor, he commented over his shoulder, "It was good to see you again, Anastasia."

The use of her full name hit her hard, and she gulped back tears this time. Alfred, meanwhile, frowned as he watched the younger man leave before moving to set the tray on the coffee table in the center of the group of chairs.

"I do apologize about Master Wayne. He hasn't been sleeping well lately."

"Alfred, you always apologize for him," she commented as she stood.

"It's my job to, Miss Williams."

"It really was a pleasure seeing you Alfred," she said after a moment with a warm smile.

"And you as well, Miss Williams. More than you know, I'm sure."

They both moved back towards the foyer silently, Ana mulling over what had just happened. It was only when Alfred was holding open the door for her again, the cab still waiting for her just down the steps, that she spoke up again. "I'm sorry for stirring up trouble. That really wasn't my intention."

He nodded, "I know, Miss Williams. He's still the same person you remember, he's just having a hard time remembering how to be that person. He could use a friend right now, at least as long as you're in town."

She smiled a little. "So you know about me?"

He smiled himself. "As being the Wayne family butler, part my job description is to know the gossip that circulates around this city. Not to mention I've always been quite fond of you. And that TV show of yours isn't bad, either."

She grinned fully now, but it fell slightly when she asked her next question. "But he doesn't know, does he?"

His also fell a little, as his eyes shifted. "He's been so wrapped up in himself lately that he spares little time notice to what's going on around him."

"And you think_ I_ can be a friend to him right now?"

"I think if anyone can, you can, Miss Williams."

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 6:44pm – The Ritz-Carlton Hotel; Gotham City, New Jersey**

As the elevator doors slid open on her floor, Ana pushed herself off the railing in the portable box to step forward, but halted suddenly when she registered that there was someone leaning against the wall in the hallway in front of her. Someone who was looking right at her. Someone who was waiting for her with a nasty, dark bruise on his cheek. She quickly lashed out to hit the button to close the doors, but he was just as quickly in motion, stopping the doors midway with his fancy Versace shoe.

"Edward, leave me alone," she demanded as she stepped back, ready to fight back if she needed to.

But he just held up his hands and remained where he was—with his body outside of the elevator, but his foot on the door track to keep it from closing. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I don't mean to startle you, or cause you any harm. I'm just here on business."

"I ought to have you fired," she snapped back, her bright hues narrowed.

"True," he commented with a shrug. "And you can tell my boss yourself. That's why I'm here."

Confused, she had to ask, "You're here to tell me to go get you fired?"

"Well, I hope I don't get fired. Nobody wants to get fired," he added as a side note. "I'm just here to escort you to a dinner meeting with Dr. Elliot, the gentleman funding your movie through his new production company."

She eyed him carefully. "Where is this dinner meeting?"

"Downstairs, actually. I wanted to catch you before you turned in for the night."

"How did you know when I would be back?"

"I am merely the messenger and escort. I would've stood here until tomorrow morning to give you the message that Dr. Elliot wanted to speak with you. He just would have rescheduled."

After a long pause as she pondered the legitimacy of his claim, she stepped back, allowing him room to enter the elevator.

He, too, hesitated before entering, looking as if he thought she was going to hit him again.

She waited until they were almost to the lobby to speak up again in the uncomfortable silence. "How's that cheek treating you?"

He flinched before remembering his composure. "It's fine. Thank you," he added shortly, straightening out his shoulders as if he had feathers like a bird and they had been ruffled.

She smirked slightly, glancing sidelong at him.

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 7:34pm – Deca; Gotham City, New Jersey**

The food that had been brought out right as Ana and Edward had arrived was now mostly gone, and Dr. Elliot had been doing most—all—of the talking since then. Mainly it was about himself, the movie, politics, etcetera, etcetera. Until…

"So as I understand it, you're a close, personal friend of Bruce Wayne's," he suddenly switched topic while he leaned back casually as if that was the perfect time and place to make such a comment.

Ana, who was in the middle of taking a sip of wine, nearly choked on her mouthful. "I beg your pardon?"

"Darling, Bruce is a close personal friend of my own. It's only natural for me to be aware of his ex-girlfriends," he commented, his dark green hues dazzling beneath his brow.

"I was never—"

"Yes, yes, I know. And I also know that your fame has nothing to do with his. In fact, as I've been observing you this evening, I believe that you chose this lifestyle to compete with him—and others like him."

She blinked. "I'm sorry, was I invited here tonight to be given a therapy session about my past? I thought you were a neurosurgeon, Dr. Elliot, not a therapist."

He chuckled. "And you are correct in that line of thinking. I'm just very good at reading others," he said as he leaned forward. "Or at least, so I thought," he added dismissively as he snatched up his wine. As he lifted the glass to his lips, his eyes noticed the Rolex on his wrist. "Oh, look at the time. It certainly does fly by sometimes." Instead of taking just a sip, he took a long swig before setting down the mostly empty glass. "I have another appointment to make, but I am certainly glad I finally got to meet you, Miss Williams," he excused himself as he stood.

The other two stood as well, politely. "Thank you for the dinner," she managed, still a little lost at this odd encounter.

"My pleasure, dear. And my advice," he added as he leaned a little over the table to get closer, "don't let Bruce's attitude keep you away. A girl like you could bring him to his knees if you wanted him to."

She blinked again, stunned at the innuendo. "Uh—"

But he was already leaving—gone. Strolling across the restaurant floor like he owned the place.

Edward chuckled nervously next to her. "Believe it or not, that's actually him nervous. He's quite relatable normally."

"Edward—" she warned, not even bothering to glance at him as she tossed her napkin on top of her empty plate.

He held up his hands in defense. "My apologies for the thousandth time. I do not know what came over me, and I do sincerely apologize for it. It will never happen again." He tipped his dark green top hat lower over his face, causing the shadow to hide the bruise as he sat back down. "Now I don't know about you, but I'm going to have another glass of wine."

Ana eyed him warily as he sat, considering it. He did say he was sorry, but…

"Thank you, Edward," she said simply as she grabbed her overturned phone from the table and headed back up to her room.

* * *

_A/N: Alright. Since it's been so goddamn long, you all probably read this and went, "What the hell is going on?" Here's a little refresher, if you need it._

_Ana used to be a paramedic in Hawaii. Bruce makes a pit-stop in Hawaii on his way back to Gotham for school and the two meet and get close to one another. Blah blah blah._

_Fast forward to the present, starting a year after The Dark Knight. Ana has become a famous actress and is in Gotham to star in a movie about the infamous Batman. Bruce hasn't gone out as Batman since the events in The Dark Knight and is still grieving over Rachel while remaining pretty much unaware as to what is going on outside of police and news matters-so he doesn't know just how up-and-coming Ana has become. When they accidentally run into each other at a restaurant, Bruce is confused as to why she is there and Ana doesn't want to have anything to do with him (she's still a little butthurt). Meanwhile, Arkham Asylum has a security falter and the inmates get loose. Also, Ana meets Leslie Thompkins, a doctor who runs a free clinic in the East End and is old friends with Alfred, and Ana decides to volunteer there in her off time. Due to the breakout, Ana's movie gets postponed. Edward, an assistant to the movie director and someone who becomes friends with Ana tries to take advantage of her one night while they were out, and her physical rejection upsets him so much that he dons his alter ego and blows up a number of Gotham's buildings, including one that Gordon and a team of officers, Zasz, and Falcone were in. When Gordon gets sent to the hospital and Bruce learns of it via the news, Bruce dons the cape and cowl again to visit Gordon and look for answers. His first night out at the police station, he gets spotted by Harvey Bullock, a transfer detective from Bludhaven, and gets shot in his escape._

_And then this chapter._


	33. II:XIV

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 5:38pm – Wayne Manor; Gotham City, New Jersey**

"I figured I would find you down here," Alfred commented as he crossed the walkway.

Bruce didn't acknowledge the comment as he slouched at the computer bank, the Batsuit seeming to loom behind him.

The elder man huffed a sigh when he came to a stop next to the chair, looking his charge over. "That was rather rude—"

"You should have informed me she was here," he snapped back.

"My apologies," Alfred admitted. "But that's no reason to take out one of your moods on her."

Bruce finally turned around with a scowl. "One of my moods? Alfred, this city is dangerous. She shouldn't be here, and I have work to do instead of worrying about her saf—" Bruce halted suddenly before lurching into an upright position and heading towards the suit.

Alfred did his best to keep his smug smile off his face. "Master Wayne, you are not solely responsible for the safety of everyone in this city."

Bruce ignored him as he opened the Plexiglas case that housed his nightly uniform.

"You're not going back out there." It was more of a demand than a question.

Slinging the suit over his arm, he started snatching the other primary pieces of the suit. He had to go out again. He couldn't do anything from here, and with Gordon in the hospital, the GCPD was useless. Who else was going to stop the Joker before he started murdering Gothamites again? Who else was going to figure out who was behind the bombings?

"Sir! You are injured, with a gunshot injury, mind you! You are in no state to go running around this city outside of a trip to the hospital—"

"Get out, Alfred," Bruce suddenly demanded, halting in his gathering and deadpanning to the butler. "Lecturing me isn't going to help Gotham."

"You getting yourself killed isn't going to help Gotham, either!" he stubbornly retorted.

"Alfred, get out before I fire you."

The older man stopped, his mouth wide open in shock. Tears sprung to his bright blue eyes, but Bruce left his unblinking, dark stare on him, daring him to say another word. This pressure was grading on him. He didn't have the time or the patience to argue the same argument they had been having for over two years now. He wanted to get rid of the cowl more than anyone, more than Alfred, but he couldn't until Gotham was safe, until its police force could handle things on their own. He had thought that time had finally come, but this breakout was proving otherwise.

Without saying another word, Alfred turned and retreated back up the stone stairs to the manor.

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 10:25pm – Ace Chemicals; Gotham City, New Jersey**

The abandoned chemical plant was a much different story than the country club he had just escaped from. The valuable estate had been crawling with police, construction workers, and even a couple of lawyers' assistants at this time of night. Doing any kind of investigating there was laughable.

But there were a handful of other locations practically left untouched, such as here. These locations weren't owned by wealthy businessmen who couldn't afford to let their business sit in ruins long enough for a thorough police investigation.

The police tape was still up, surrounding the crumbled grounds like the weak barrier it was. The dark foundation loomed in front of him, support beams jutting out of the wreckage at odd angles. The air still smelled like sulfur. Dipping underneath the tape, he carefully treaded deeper into the ruins, the pieces of concrete crackling under his boots.

He just wanted to take a look around for himself. With how much wreckage there was—the chemicals in the plant only adding to the explosion—he doubted he would find anything tangible. If anything, he could at least figure out where the blast started.

How in the hell did Gordon survive this?

The building had once been huge. Its floor plan still stretched over five city blocks, but its former height of five floors was now condensed to one.

He followed the path rescuers had made to reach the commissioner, the trail of dozens of footprints still untouched. And when he reached the end of the trail, in front of him lay the steel door that shielded him, tossed off to the side like it was unimportant. A small cavern in the rubble was at the base of the large support beam, and upon closer inspection, some of Gordon's blood was still on the rocks of broken cement.

Standing back up, Batman turned, his back to the pillar. Scanning the scene in front of him, his gaze stopped on the clear, large pathway that left rubble piled up to the sides and pillars leaning away from it. As he wandered down the wide path, his thoughts were confirmed by the blackened eastern sides of the pillars.

The further he got in the rubble, the less recognizable the building became. Metal pipes and lockers quickly became just twisted scraps of metal sticking out from the crumbs. Bricks and cinderblocks were mere rocks.

The flat, open area he finally reached as void of rubble. Instead, the ground was black and his boots stirred up dust as he walked. No footprints. The police hadn't investigated the scene yet.

As he had figured, the empty area left no trace of whatever device the bomb had been in. Kneeling, his cape falling around him, he touched his gloved fingers to the dirt at his feet before peering at the pads of his fingers. If he was going to find anything, it would be in this dust.

Reaching for his belt, he detached the empty metal vial. But as soon as he had it securely in his hand, ready to collect a sample, a bullet loudly ricocheted off the ground in front of him. Instantly, his head snapped towards where the bullet was fired from and his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a shadow through the rubble.

Taking off, he darted through the dark like a wraith, his cape snapping behind him as he kept an eye on his footing. Gunshots sounded and bullets landed on either side of him, missing him—or warning him. When a click sounded instead of the noisy echo of a gunshot, the shadow suddenly moved, darting with its own speed through the ruins. As the Bat gained, he noticed that the figure also had something trailing behind it, whipping through the air.

Another click alerted Batman that the shooter had reloaded and he slid off to the side behind a support when the barrel of the gun whipped around to open fire. Around the other side of the pillar, two batarangs flew from his fingers, whistling through the air. And as his shadowed eyes followed their trail, he watched the shooter skip by them, laughing.

It wasn't the Joker.

Batman took off again, flying. He was no longer concerned with the gun. If the shooter wanted to shot him, he wouldn't be missing like he was. The shots were too precise. They alternated sides with every shot, and they always hit something nearby. Now he was just concerned about catching up with him.

The shooter realized this quickly, and both the laughing and gunfire stopped. Instead of running straight, allowing him a clear path to shoot so he didn't have to watch his feet, he was trying to move more through the rubble, ducking underneath fallen floors and beams.

Batman followed without hesitation, ducking underneath the same obstacles. But when he came up past a slanted beam, the gun went off again, and it didn't miss.

The bullet slammed into his shoulder, knocking him sideways. He tripped and stumbled into a pile of broken concrete. Pain radiated through his right shoulder, running down his arm. Trying to ignore it, he pushed himself up with a grunt. When he was standing again, leaning heavily to the side as he tried not to move his arm, he glanced around. The shooter was gone.

"In all things the mean is praiseworthy, and the extremes neither praiseworthy nor right, but worthy of blame." His voice was suddenly behind him, and as soon as the first syllable was uttered, an arm was suddenly around his throat, yanking him back as the gun pressed into his shoulder.

Batman grimaced, seeing red. His shoulder screamed in protest and his arm went numb. But despite that, the armor was keeping him from being choked. Twisting, he sliced a batarang backwards with his good hand, ready to catch flesh, but the shooter released his grip and stepped backwards, allowing the two men to face each other.

In the dark, he was hard to see clearly, but the obvious distinctions were clear. The trenchcoat, the bandaged, hidden face, the bulletproof vest, the holster harboring one handgun while the other was still aimed at him.

"Who are you?" Batman growled.

"An extreme, Batman. Just like you." And the gun went off again.

The Bat stumbled backward, shocked. He couldn't feel where the bullet had hit, just that his entire midsection had seemingly exploded. Leaning over as he stumbled, he crashed to the ground for the second time, landing on his bad arm and crumpling even more.

It hurt. It all hurt. His body, his mind. He didn't want to do this anymore. He wanted to be with Rachel.

Shakily, he touched his abdomen, feeling for where it hurt the most. The most acute sensations radiated mere inches away from the already present and healing hole in his side. And after bringing the glove to his face, the glistening on the black informed him that the armor hadn't done much good.

He should've heard him behind him. He should've known he was there. Stupid and foolish mistakes.

Now that he was adjusting to the sharp bites of fire, he blinked back the haze as much as he could to peer through the dark, half expecting to be staring at the barrel of the gun again. But instead he found himself alone, as much as he could tell anyways. He couldn't investigate any further anyways, he didn't have time.

"Alfred?" he tried, hoping that the faithful butler was still eavesdropping on him. Was he ever going to get a big, fat 'I told you so.' That was assuming, of course, that he hadn't walked out on him. "Alfred."

"Yes, Master Wayne?" Indifference. He wasn't on the feeds. Just simple eavesdropping today. He didn't know what had happened.

"Alfred, I'm sorry," Bruce managed in a breath.

"Master Wayne?" Now came the worry. He never did apologize easily. "Wh-?"

"I need your help," the Bat wheezed, now struggling to get back into a sitting position.

"Where are you?"

"Ace Chemicals." Instead of sitting fully up just yet, he paused on the better of his two sides, leaning. He was too far away. Alfred couldn't get him there and back in time.

"On my way, sir."

"Alfred, get Leslie." She was close. Closer than Alfred, anyway. If he could stay alert long enough to help her get himself to her clinic, he had a chance.

"Of course, sir."

Thinking better of trying to get up, he let himself lay back on the uncomfortable pile of rubble he had stumbled onto. Keeping his hand that still had feeling in it pressed firmly against his abdomen, he took a deep breath and waited.


	34. II:XV

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 10:38pm – The Ritz-Carlton Hotel; Gotham City, New Jersey**

The cell phone ringing from the nightstand lulled her slowly from sleep. It had taken her a couple hours to try and pass out, just to pass the night, and now that she finally managed to almost reach REM, someone decided to call. If it was Edward, she was going to strangle him the next times she saw him.

Grumpily, she reached for the phone without opening her eyes, trying to stay as sleepy and as comfy as possible. "Hello?" she asked softly, her own voice too loud for the silence of the room.

"Ana?" That was Leslie's voice. "Ana, it's Leslie. I need your help, dear." Leslie's urgent voice.

Frowning Ana opened her eyes, glancing at the clock over her shoulder. Only 10:45? "What is it Leslie?"

"You're staying at the Ritz-Carlton, correct?"

Ana nodded first before remembering to speak. "Yeah, why?"

"I need to you go across the street to the Gotham Century Towers. Tell the doorman that you are expected in the penthouse."

"Wh-?"

"Thank you, dear. See you soon."

Blinking herself awake out of surprise, she sat up in the bed, staring at her phone. The penthouse next door? She glanced at the floor-to-ceiling window where the city twinkled in front of her. In the dual skyscrapers across the street, both of their caps were lit up, but while one was a banquet hall where an event was going on, the other had closed blinds, shielding the light.

After a huffed sigh of reluctance, she threw her legs to the side of the bed.

* * *

**Friday, August 7, 2009 – 10:45pm – Gotham Century Towers; Gotham City, New Jersey**

"Hi," Ana said sweetly, despite her thrown up, mussed hair, and T-shirt and jeans appearance.

The finely dressed gentlemen behind the desk was thinking the same thing she was. He looked her over judgmentally.

"I'm on my way to the penthouse?" she tried innocently. She didn't have a name or anything, so what else was she to say?

"Is Mr. Wayne expecting you?" came his judgmental question as he did another glance over.

She blinked. What was Leslie up to? "Uh, yes! Why, yes he is."

He still looked unsure. "Could you please hold on for a moment?"

She nodded a little too enthusiastically. "Yes, of course."

And sure enough, he picked up the phone and phoned up to the penthouse. "Good evening, Mr. Pennyworth. Sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, but—" He paused, interrupted, and his expression changed from annoyance to apologetic in a slow, dawning instant. "Yes, of course. My apologies, sir." He quickly hung up the phone and glanced at Ana, the judgmental expression wiped clean. "The elevator is to your left, Miss Williams."

"Thank you," she said politely before strolling towards the private elevator.

The elevator operator smiled as she approached and gestured for her to enter the already open private elevator. Smiling in return, she slipped right in and waited for the doors to close. As she zipped up to the top floor, she rocked on her heels nervously. Why was she going to Bruce's penthouse? Why did Bruce still have a penthouse? Leslie was clearly aware where she was going. But it wasn't a whimsical tone that she used with her on the phone. It was urgent, much like the tone she used when she barked orders at the clinic.

Getting more and more anxious with every floor, when she finally reached the top, she released a held back sigh and stilled her restlessness. The doors smoothly slid open with a quiet ding, announcing her arrival. Gingerly, she stepped out, glancing around at the empty hallway in front of her. "Hello?"

Alfred suddenly appeared, and upon seeing her, a smile lit up his face. But she wasn't focused on the smile, she was focused on the rest of him. Instead of the usual sweater that he wore, he wore a plain gray long sleeve that was pushed up to his elbows. And both his hands and the shirt had blood stains splattered on them. "Anastasia, thank you for coming so quickly. Right this way." He seemed out of breath, huffing his words like he had just run a marathon. With his appearance, she hardly noticed the fact that he actually used her name.

She eyed him warily, curious and worried at the same time. "Alfred? What happened? Who's hurt?" But as she quickly thought about it, she suddenly realized it was a stupid question. If Alfred was here and Leslie had called her, the only one left to be hurt was Bruce. But they were still here, clearly, and not at a hospital. Did he try to commit suicide? That seemed absurd. It wasn't in Bruce's character. Moody broody, yes, but not suicidal.

"Anastasia, I trust in your character and your ability to remain calm and collected, and we need that from you right now," he began to explain as he led her through the penthouse and towards a spiral staircase.

"Alfred, wh-?"

"Leslie and I are treating multiple gunshots with severe blood loss. Right now we need an extra set of experienced hands." They darted up the stairs, Alfred surprising Ana with how quick he could be if he needed to.

Still confused, Ana followed just a quickly, holding back her numerous questions. He didn't seem to be in the mood to explain anything.

When they reached the top of the stairs, she was led down another hallway until a large bedroom opened up in front of her. On the king sized bed was an unconscious, boxer-clad Bruce surrounded by newly reddened sheets and towels. Next to him was Leslie impatiently waiting for them to arrive, and what seemed like all of the supplies from the clinic was scattered between her and the table a few feet behind her.

"Ana, I need you here, applying pressure to the shoulder while I try to remove this bullet. Alfred, is blood on the way?"

He nodded quickly as the both of them moved quickly towards the bed. "I have a friend who owes me a favor on the way, Leslie."

As Ana approached the bed without fully thinking, she reached for one of the clean towels in the small pile on the floor to replace the deep red one that was present. She was shell shocked, and pure experience took over. "What have you given him, Leslie?" she demanded instinctively, not entirely in control of what she was saying or doing anymore.

"Nothing, I haven't had time. Can you attach that IV there on the table?"

She nodded and moved to do so quickly. Upon returning to the bedside, she skillfully and quickly cleaned and inserted the needle into his arm to start the IV. Glancing around, she looked for something to keep the water bag lifted and spotted one of the two lamps on either side of the bed. Reaching for one carefully while making sure she didn't yank the tube back out, she pulled it close and hung it on the switch sticking out from the metal post. Satisfied with the quick work, she moved back to his shoulder, and continued to apply the necessary pressure.

And only then did her adrenaline spike slightly subside and she observed her surroundings—or rather just him. In what little of his pale white skin on his torso that she could see, she spotted scars of various shapes. Short jagged ones, long gnarly ones. And he was bulky muscular, far more muscular than a fit and toned playboy should look. She looked to his face, his peacefully handsome face and noticed smaller details. He had deep circles under his eyes, and his high cheekbones seemed to be little bit more prominent as if from malnutrition. It was obvious he'd been through physical trauma before, clearly. And his condition left her clues as to why they weren't at the hospital right now.

And lastly, there was a secured bandage on his side that had blood on it, but not soaked through it from an injury underneath. He had already hurt himself before this, and then bandaged it up, which would explain why he had been favoring his side earlier when she had seen him. Was it another gunshot wound? Another one of those long scars forming?

"Ana, can you take a look at his shoulder?" Leslie asked, bringing Ana out of her observational trance. She was wiping her hands with a towel as Alfred moved to set a container on the table. She had gotten the bullet out.

Nodding, Ana gently removed the towel and peered at the injury. Blood still oozed out with each steady heartbeat and showed no signs of slowing. Pressing the towel back on it, she gently forced his heavy shoulder upward to look at the other side. There was no exit wound. "Bullet's still in here, too," she announced, lowering the shoulder back to the bed. "He's still bleeding profusely, so it has to be deep."

"Of course it is," Leslie sighed as she glanced to Alfred with a dangerous look. "Alright, dear, are you ready to remove it?"

Ana blinked. "Why me? Why can't you-?"

"You have plenty of experience, and I myself have witnessed you removing one only a couple days ago. Now go ahead while I stitch this up and prep him for a blood transfusion."

Biting her lip, Ana glanced back at the covered injury. Yes, she had removed bullets from flesh before, but not from people she knew. This was Bruce. Taking a deep breath, she finally reached for the tools Leslie had been using and comfortably positioned herself so she could have easy access to the shoulder. She worked quickly, automatically, not wanting any more blood to pour out than necessary. How much had he lost so far? When she finally managed to find it and remove it, she held the tiny, blood-covered piece of metal in the tweezers shakily, staring at it like it was from another planet.

"Anastasia," Alfred prodded, holding out the small container where the other bullet had been tossed.

Slowly, reluctantly, she finally dropped it in the tin and he moved to put it back where it was. Both of the bullets were oddly shaped, as if they had been ricocheted off of something before hitting Bruce. They were smashed in. Going back to his shoulder, she gently applied pressure to pause the bleeding so she could clean it up and stitch it much like Leslie was doing on the other injury.

She had a lot of questions, but right now she could just worry about making sure that he was going to wake up again.

* * *

_A/N: Holy shit, I updated. It's been over a year-and I apologize about that, but I finally had a sudden rush of inspiration. The Dark Knight Rises kinda killed me a little, because I keep wanting to incorporate everything into this story, but I know it'll suck if I do that. Besides, the movie did the story pretty good, so I don't want to impede. Who knows, though. Maybe later I'll do my own interpretation of the movie with Ana around and tack it onto this story. But since it has been so long, I am a little nervous about these chapters flowing well with the rest of the story, but I hope you all find them entertaining at least._

_If you were waiting for an update to hit your inbox, or whatever, there might have been some changes made to previous chapters (in part 2 only) over the past year. If you find yourself lost/confused, skim through the old chapters if you have the time._

_Let me know your thoughts/opinions, and I'm going to ride out this inspiration as long as possible. The next chapter should be tricky, but from there it should be pretty smooth sailing._

_Maybe I'll actually finish this story! Thanks for reading so far!  
_


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